Defiance
by K-chu
Summary: She was a dove in chains. Hidden away in a tower and left to rot, without hope or dreams of salvation. She didn't mind however, because she'd rather be his prisoner than his loyal subject. SasuSaku, Dark.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** She was a dove in chains. Hidden away in a tower and left to rot, without hope or dreams of salvation. She didn't mind however, because she'd rather be his unwilling prisoner than his loyal subject.

**Rating:** **M **; Dark themes, non-consensual sex. Don't read if you are a romantic (!)

**A/N:** Yeah, I don't know... Depressed by latest Naruto chapters (rip SasuSaku fml), this is the result. I don't think there's any serious spoilers... It takes place more in an imaginary future (post-war). Mainly a one-shot, but I guess if enough people ask, I can make it a two-shot even though I can't think of a good ending...

**Edit** Canon up until 697.  
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><p><strong>Defiance<strong>

The moon was high and the dark sky littered with blinking stars that shone through the cloudless night. A hint of frost in the bitter evening signalled the changing of seasons. Winter was approaching, and spared no signs in showing that it would be unforgiving.

The raven-haired nin stood in his tower, perched like a king as he gazed out blankly at the city below. His dark eyes drank in everything. The peaks of the houses, flickering lanterns and rustling leaves in the trees that decorated the sides of the streets. It was a city rebuilt. Purified of the filth and corruption that plagues it prior to his ironclad rule. It was a city without murder. A city on the cusp of cutting out crime altogether. It was near-perfection.

Although it was late, a few citizens lingered in the streets, speaking in hushed whispers about whatever town gossip had captured their attentions. Soon the guards would shuffle them into their houses to keep them from breaking curfew.

Behind the lone man, a healthy fire cackled, providing the only comfort in the large round office though the heat from the fire did not reach him. He was cold, calculating. Sinister.

A tap at the door broke him from his silent contemplation.

"Enter." The command rolled off his tongue with authority.

It didn't take more than a few seconds before the door swiftly sprung open and a middle-aged man appeared, wearing the familiar uniform that all nins were required to wear.

"Hokage-sama," the plain man fumbled with the collar of his shirt before bending down into a low bow, waiting for the figure cloaked in shadows to acknowledge his presence.

Silence stretched. The air in the room grew a little thicker with each passing moment, and the prostrated soldier cast a hesitant glance at the back of his commander, no doubt wondering if his greeting had gone unheard. He fought the urge to wipe a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek.

"Has she spoken yet?" At last, a low voice cut through the silence without a hint of emotion or curiosity for the answer.

The nameless foot soldier hesitated, shuffling on his feet before giving his answer, "Not for a fortnight, Hokage-sama."

Again, a heavy silenced descended on the room. So thick and uncomfortable it was, that the aging soldier could easily imagine dark shadows springing forth from the corners of the room and strangling him where he stood.

"Did you limit her food and water intake?"

Bored, bored, bored.

"Yes, however…" His voice trailed off, uncertain whether to continue would spark the ire of his superior.

"Speak," impatience started to grow in his tone as he now glared down at the village outside his window.

"She has taken to refusing meals altogether. I fear that, if it continues for much longer, she won't last much more than a week." Another pause, perhaps awaiting a displeasing comment from the hokage or even a display of some concern for their prisoner's wellbeing, but upon receiving none, the man spoke again.

"What should we do, Hokage-sama?"

A log cracked at the moment the deadly nin spoke, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" The soldier asked in bewilderment, believing that he may have heard wrong.

"I will take over control of the prisoner," his even tone disguised the seriousness of the subject and masked the significance of his decision. He hadn't seen the prisoner himself since the day he dropped her unconscious body in the cement tower that was now her home.

"But, Hokage-sama," the soldier spoke with some urgency, "that is not necessary, we can still—"

"No. You and your men have failed long enough." Hidden from the soldier's view was the way the hokage's strong fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill and the way his eyes bled red with such a frightening menace that even the youngest of children would know to be fearful of him.

"We have tried all manner of interrogation techniques, physical and mental torture, sleep and food deprivation," the man attempted to justify their failed efforts but by the end of his statement, his shoulders sagged and he was remiss to admit, "She doesn't break."

At last, the hokage looked over his soldier at the man, with nothing but malice and hatred swimming in his narrowed eyes as he coldly proclaimed, "She will break for me."

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Sakura stared blankly at the cement ceiling above her, laying on nothing more than a thin strip of foam for a mattress and a single, thin sheet for warmth. If she tried hard enough, on a good day she could almost delude herself into believing that it was a sleeping bag she was bundled in with her back on a grassy strip of land. It reminded her of her genin days when Team 7 went on careless, D-rank missions and Naruto complained constantly of how they ought to be on B-rank missions _at least_.

This day, unfortunately, was not one of those good days. Instead, the cold cement floor seemed to bleed through the thin foam padding. Her entire backside stung from the cold, causing her to shiver and rub her arms in an effort to shake off the bone-chilling cold. It did little to help. She could tell that winter was fast approaching and didn't quite know how she'd make it through. Though, the voice inside her head joked that she might be good and dead before she really had to worry about it.

"Ha!" She bit out a bitter laugh, imagining the expression on her unpleasant guards' faces when they would finally walk in to her prison cell and discover her body stiff and lifeless. Maybe then they would learn to keep their smug smirks to themselves, no longer in the coveted position of guarding Konoha's most precious prisoner.

If she had the energy, she might hate them. Fortunately, for them, months of psychological games had numbed her to the emotions that once shone through her like an open book. Strong emotions such as hatred required an amount of effort she no longer seemed to possess. She was once a warm and happy person. Now all that remained was a shell.

What a pitiful sight she made for.

Frowning, she rolled onto her side in an effort to relieve her back from the chill that seeped into her skin. She took to counting the cracks in the cement wall. A familiar pastime she used to occupy herself until her eyes would eventually droop shut and send her into a restless slumber. Sleep offered little escape, however. For even her dreams seemed to play games with her; reliving past nightmares and haunted memories.

She used to cry about it. About the life she lost. The people she cherished.

Now her tears were all dried up.

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When she dreamed, she dreamt of red. The blood of Naruto, Kakashi, her family and friends. Even her own blood. She saw it all. Felt it all. Especially the way Naruto slumped in her arms, releasing a weary sigh as all of his vivacious energy left his body. His tan skin paled from blood-loss, and she, with all her medical training was helpless to save him. Still, she pumped whatever chakra that remained within her into his broken body in a desperate hope that it would save him. She prayed for a miracle.

She received none.

Green eyes snapped open with a start, taking several moments to adjust to the artificially lit room. Sweat beaded on the edges of her forehead and her stomach growled angry with hunger. Both her arms and legs were weak from lack of sustenance and the sudden, violent urge to retch caused her heart to beat quickly in her chest.

She was weak. Sick with hunger. It had been days since her last meal and she felt her body's demand for nutrients was starting to take its toll. She didn't mind dying anymore, only she wished that it would happen more quickly. To die of starvation is an arduous process yet she felt it had to be done. It had been months of moves and countermoves, all in an effort to get her to give into _his _demands. This was her final move; the last act of defiance she could muster against her captors.

If they thought she would break, they were wrong.

When the heavy metal door creaked open, she didn't even bother to cast a glance at the guard. Instead, she remained on her side, facing the wall opposite to the door. On good days, the guard simply set the tray down and quickly departed. More often than not, however, she suffered a beating at the hands of restless men seeking to alleviate whatever frustrations they had building inside them.

She waited anxiously for the familiar clanking sound of the tray hitting the ground, containing the usual meager piece of bread and small cup of water.

About two weeks ago, they decided to starve her into submission by giving her only the barest morsels of which to survive on. In retaliation, she decided to give up eating all together.

It was when the silence stretched on that she began to grow unnerved, feeling more and more suffocated by the unwelcome presence in the room. She was tempted to cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder to see what was the delay; fear prevented her from seeking out the truth.

A minute passed, and she was helpless to subdue the shiver that ran up her back. Her body tensed and breathing grew shallow as she unknowingly braced herself against something unknown but undoubtedly awful.

The sound of a step drawing closer caused her ears to perk up, taking in every sound, every shift in the air, every rustle of fabric. Then another step, and another.

She bawled her fist, now certain that nothing but pain awaited her in the immediate future.

When the tray finally touched the ground, it did so with much more finesse than usual and her entire body visibly flinched as if she'd been struck. The light _tap _against the stone was delicate and carefully measured. It did nothing to appease her growing trepidation. If anything, it compounded her unease since it seemed so calculated, so controlled. She was not dealing with the usual impatient foot soldier whose motives were easy to read. If confinement had taught her anything, it was how to read the moods of her captors.

"Eat." The one-word command seemed to ring off the walls, instilling a strong wave of panic through every tense muscle in her lithe body.

She froze, paralyzed in fear.

She knew that voice. Dreaded its dark, unfeeling tone. It had been months since she heard it in any place except her nightmares, and she had hoped with all her being that would remain as such.

Life never really did go as she hoped.

Quickly she sat up to face her captor, spinning around and propping her back against the cement wall.

It was a regrettable decision. In her malnourished state, the blood that rushed to her head overwhelmed her senses, causing the room to spin and eyes to cloud over in darkness. Her hands gripped the bed sheet in an effort to keep herself feeling grounded, but she ultimately failed to suppress her facial muscles' need to wince at the unpleasant sensation.

Only when the room ceased to spin and her eyes managed to focus could she confirm the identity of the man standing before her. She took note of his open-toed sandals and the black pants that were tightly bound from the ankle to the point just below his knees.

Almost at the point of hyperventilating, her eyes continued to travel upwards, observing the fitted, black shirt that zipped up the middle. His arms were crossed, but even so, she could tell that the top portion of the shirt had been left hanging open. Raven locks framed his face, reaching the length of his chin.

When her eyes landed on his straight-lined mouth, she didn't bother to look any higher. This man was dangerous. His eyes unforgiving. She learned too late that any degree of friendship they had when they were younger meant nothing to him and did little to save her from his cursed sharingan.

"You are weak." An observation on her physical state, void of disgust or any real interest.

To reaffirm his earlier order, he again commanded her to eat, pushing the tray forward a little with his foot, as if she were his dog and he expected her to leap forward and obey.

The action sparked something deep inside her. Morphing fear into a silent fury that had grown for this boy the moment he wrought this pitiless existence upon her. Though, as she observed his tight jaw and broad shoulders, she corrected herself. He was a man now. A merciless, powerful man who was used to imposing his will on others.

In defiance, she pushed the tray back towards him with her foot, glaring at it as if repulsed by the sight of food. She didn't care if she was weak in his eyes, she had decided long ago not to give this man what he wanted.

The raven-haired male watched her carefully through lowered, dark eyes. He had heard that she changed, and here he was, ready to pass judgment. To see if she really was any different from the desperate girl that clung to the foolish hope of saving him. The girl who responded with tears at every little thing he did, every gesture, whether it was a bored stare or murderous snarl.

She really was an open book. Too easy to read and the last thing a shinobi ought to be. He abhorred her weakness.

Her prison-issued gray pants and t-shirt looked a size too big, one sleeve on the cusp of sliding off her shoulder and leaving her creamy, alabaster skin exposed. It was testament to her unhealthy weight-loss. She had her hair thrown back in a haphazardly tied ponytail with loose strands hanging down. It had grown some since he last saw her, though lack of proper care prevented it from going wild.

On her forearms, her pale skin was blemished with bruises of varying ages, some a fading yellow and others, an angry shade of purple. A small scratch in the process of healing lay marring her cheek. As his eyes drank in the sight of her, he found himself noting that his guards must've found restraint difficult around her.

Still, despite all the signs of wear, the fatigue in her face did little to allay the fire in her eyes. It had, perhaps, diminished some in the months since her captivity but there could be no doubt that it was there.

It was something that surprised him.

He never expected her to last so long; he always thought her to be weak, fragile even. In constant need of being rescued. At one time, all he had to do was cast a disappointed look in her direction and it was enough to send her headlong into an abysmal state of self-doubt and inconsolable grief. He supposed those days had long since passed.

"How long are you going to play this petty, little game of yours?" He mused aloud, truly curious to know what irrational belief she clung to so tightly that it kept her conviction to refuse his demands steadfast.

He found himself only mildly irritated when she pursed her lips in a clear refusal to answer.

"Aa," his head tilted in mock interest, "I heard you've become a mute."

When still she chooses to remain silent, he takes a new line of tact. "To think," he smirks, finding her change in attitude towards him a source of amusement, "the day has finally come where I don't have to listen to you or the dobe's—"

"Don't you dare talk about Naruto," she spits out in offense, voice cracking from disuse. Although it's meant to sound strong –threatening– it comes across more like the last-ditch hissings of a wounded animal backed into a corner. It didn't help that her head was starting to pound, and that she had to fight against her own body to remain sitting upright.

Emboldened by his lack of response, she continues even though her body shakes with fatigue, "A traitor like you has no right to speak his name." The bitter taste of disgust fills her mouth.

He decides that he dislikes the glint in her eyes and was at her in a matter of two quick strides; crouched down before her with his hand wrapped around her small neck and pushing her firmly against the wall.

As she gasps for breath, he glares at her. All hints of amusement he had only moments ago are gone, replaced with a dangerous desire to hurt her. To put her in her place and prove that she is just as easily broken as ever.

Weakly, her hands grip his arm in an effort to remove his hand from her windpipe. It's altogether a pathetic display of her lack of strength.

As her vision starts to blur, she senses the end approaching and is actually met with relief. She would finally be set free. There was no more reason to fight it. Naruto would be proud; she never broke, she never betrayed his dream to become hokage. She stayed loyal to it until the very end, despite all the pain she endured because of it.

_May you rest in peace. _

Something dangerous swims in his dark eyes as her arms dropped and a peculiar look of calm overtakes her features. It would be easy to kill her. He could do it without sparing her a second thought. She was nothing but an annoyance, and yet, she was an annoyance that he still needed. If for nothing more than symbolic purposes.

He would have her loyalty, even if she had to fake it.

Relinquishing his hold around her neck, he watched as she slumped sideways to fall against the floor. Halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, she panted for air, taking in quick breaths to appease her burning lungs.

Before she had time to pass out, he stood up, towering over her. Tall and proud, he informed her darkly, "You will eat before I return," her eyes shut, though he could tell she could still hear him, "Or I'll shove it down your throat."

With that, he turned on his heel and left her. Cold, alone and unconscious.

Uchiha Sasuke never took no for an answer.

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She lunged forward, all of her weight and momentum thrown into that last punch. He dodged, of course, grabbing her wrist and sideswiping the body that followed, but the speed and weight combined to tilt him off balance and the two of them fall in a heap on the ground.

"Nngg," she grunts as her head smacks against something hard but doesn't have time to contemplate the issue because of the solid mass pressing down on her and trapping her to the ground. Immediately, she starts to struggle, thrashing against him while kicking and punching wildly in every direction.

It can't end here, not like this!

Her will to survive burned strongly even if the world around her seemed to come crumbling down.

"Stop," he hisses out lowly in warning, swiping at her flailing arms until he succeeds in pining them down at either side of her head. She is so frantic to escape that she misses the raspy-edge to his voice. Huskier than it should be.

Ignoring his command, she instead uses her remaining, unhampered limbs to continue her fight for freedom. Her legs twist and knees bend. If she could just kick or knee him with enough force, she is sure it could buy herself enough time to roll out from under him and generate a few feet of distance between them before preparing her next move. Her chakra is low; she hadn't even had time to recover from his mangekyou sharingan before she discovered Naruto's battered body and had to use whatever remaining chakra she had trying to heal him.

God, how her body shook with exertion. It had been a struggle just to stand and go after them

Now she was relying almost completely on regular, human strength as opposed to the chakra-laced punches she was infamous for. He wasn't in much better shape, though his natural strength was still far greater than her own.

Relentless in her efforts to break free, she finally manages to jerk her knee up, foot digging into the dirt for added momentum. Unknown to her, her knee accidentally wedges against something it should not. She was too focused on escaping; too innocent to know the dangers of what effect her agile body could have on a young man full of adrenaline and used to taking what he wanted.

Sasuke's breath hitches in the back of his throat and his head rolls forward so that his bangs brush against Sakura's wide forehead.

The simple action freezes her in place. It's more affective at stilling her than any drug she could've dreamed of administering. Hesitantly, her green eyes cast a tentative glance at the raven-haired male above her, aware enough not to make eye-contact, and is met with a frown.

"Sasuke... kun?" Uncertain of what's transpiring, she squirms a bit more, uncomfortable with his proximity and apprehension for his suddenly peculiar behavior. Their bodies are so close together that she's sure he can feel the hammering of her heart in her chest, just as she can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Something hard pokes awkwardly against her thigh and causes enough discomfort for her to want to slide away from it. She doesn't like the positions they're in. It leaves her vulnerable and somehow exposed. It would be so easy for him to rip through her chest with his bare hands, just as he had done to her when he captured her inside that twisted genjutsu of his.

Her wriggling causes a surprised gasp to pass through his lips; his face cringes in a mixture of restraint, frustration and something else that Sakura can't quite discern. "Stop that!" He snaps impatiently, tone harsh enough to cause her to wince.

Briefly, she obeys. Listening only to the sound blood rushing to her ears.

The seconds tick by in a tense silence and the atmosphere surrounding them grows thick with uneasiness. She waits with bated breath as his weight crushes her and sends a flurry of butterflies bouncing off the walls of her stomach. It's the mix of shy, nervousness combined with terror for her wellbeing that confuses her.

Waiting, waiting.

There's a moment where the tight grip on her wrists seems to falter, slackening for a reason she doesn't care to contemplate. She decides to seize the opportunity; waiting games never were her strength. With all the force she can muster up, she tries to lift her body up. Her arms shake and leg digs in further into the dirt as she uses the ground for leverage in a last ditch effort to throw her captor off her.

"Get off," she manages to grit out between clenched teeth, the desperation in her tone is unmistakeable.

She doesn't bother trying to analyze why his eyes widen a fraction of an amount or why his jaw slackens and mouth pops open to let a breath of hot air to fan across her cheek. What stops her is the way his fingers tighten around her small wrists, nails digging into flesh and smacking her hands back down to the ground with a surprising degree of force, followed by an angry, almost pained, hiss.

"Can't you see what you're doing," the words full of venom and accusation.

For a moment, she wonders if she caused some kind of internal damage to his body, but this thought is immediately cast out when he rocks forward to press his groin firmly against her leg, which is wedged in between his own. A groan soon follows.

The contact triggers full-blown panic.

"You're..." Sakura's viridian eyes widen and the colour fades from her face. Shock evident in her features as a terrible and almost impossible realization starts to dawn on her. Quickly she moves to set her leg straight, eliminate the friction and hopefully spark reason in her former teammate's actions. Instead, his reaction is instantaneous and more terrifying than she could ever dream.

Sasuke yanks her arms above her head, binding her wrists together under one of his strong hands while the other reaches down and keeps her leg in place, firmly pressing her knee against his groin to let her know full well the state of his arousal.

There is a brief moment of hesitation where they both remain immobile, on the precipice of turning back and lunging forward into irreversible consequences.

Her mind is full of too many things to make sense of anything. Why was this happening? It had to be a dream. Another genjutsu, perhaps?

Suddenly, he seems to make up his mind and starts grinding against her wanting nothing more than to appease the ache between his legs.

"This... Is your fault," he grounds out lowly and in a voice she can hardly recognize. With each roll of the hips, his movements grow bolder and his desire for more becomes increasingly apparent to the kunoichi beneath him.

Again Sakura begins to struggle against him, though this time for reasons entirely different than before, "Sasuke-kun, stop!" She yells when, yet again, she feels something hard brush against her inner thigh. This time, however, she knows exactly what it is.

Rather than releasing her, his grip tightens and his movements become harsher. Her struggles excite him and fan the flames of wanton desire. Unknowingly she had awakened a sickening need in him to exert complete control over her helpless body. It wasn't that he wanted to do this, he simply lacked the will or control to stop it from happening.

"Don't do this," she starts to plead; shaking her head from side-to-side and shutting her eyes to stem the flow of tears that threaten to fall. Everything was happening too fast for her to counteract, including the crawling feeling of disgust that prickled every inch of her skin and pooled like toxic sludge in her stomach.

This was the last thing she wanted to happen. She wanted to make a difference in the fight, prove her worth. It seemed she was never meant to fly very high before smashing back into the ground.

In the midst of her begs, his hand leaves the underside of her leg and, with a eagerness, he tugs down her pants. Her panties soon follow, bundling up around her knees and making it more difficult to fight him off.

Exposed to a man for the first time ever, she gasps and feels the heat rush to her face, tainting her cheeks a deep shade of red shame.

"No!" She wants to cover herself and hide away from his ravishing hands but is helpless to do anything except watch.

Soon she feels the heated flesh of his manhood against her bare skin, wet and begging for entry that she would not permit. He rocks forward, in between her tightly pressed thighs. Once. Twice. On the third thrust, he is sent over the edge and decides that he can't wait any longer. His hand forces her legs apart and without words of comfort, without the gentle caress of a lover or the soft kisses of a companion, he tears into her, seeking only to satisfy the fire that burns in his veins.

The pain shoots through her back and mouth opens in a silent scream. He is rough and demanding with her, sparing no time to allow her to adjust. His movements lack finesse, inexperience evident in his careless use of her body. _Was it his first time too?_

The words start flowing out from her lips, much the same as the tears that roll down her cheeks, "It hurts. Stop... You're breaking me!" Paying no attention to her, he continues to ramming into her.

What makes it worse for her is the knowledge that he doesn't care at all. Taking the last of her innocence; something she'd always meant to give him but never like this. Not in the midst of a war. Not as her enemy. Not against her will, and especially not when he held no affection for her.

"You don't love me," she chokes on her words, her body shaking in fear, disgust and pain, "You don't even care—"

Quickly he slaps a hand over her mouth, silencing her unwanted speech and realizations of a shattered dream that never had a hope of happening in the first place. When she is quiet, the only sound that fills the air is the sound of skin hitting skin and the grunts of a man chasing his climax.

In her horror, she thinks to herself that they are like nothing more than animals.

Defeated, she grows numb and stares over his shoulder at the cloudy sky above. She doesn't have to wait long before his pace turns erratic and he has to bite down on the tender skin between her neck and shoulder to keep himself from crying out when he peaks.

He rides out his high as the waves of pleasure wash over him. His body is slick with sweat and hair damp around the edges. When he's done, he rolls off her and collapses on the ground beside her. Now, the only sound that fills the air is that of their haggard breaths.

It was not his intention for this to happen. He just wanted to make her see that fighting him was futile. Kakashi couldn't stop him, even Naruto couldn't. What hope did she think she had. What a foolish little girl with childhood fantasies dictating her every action. The world she wanted to protect was not worth saving, so why did she cling to it so desperately.

If he had bothered to look over at her, he might've seen that there was one daydream he thoroughly ripped from her.

She breaks down beside him, sobbing into her hands and rolling onto her side so that she doesn't have to face him. He takes this as his cue to leave and hastily adjusts his clothes, wiping the sweat off his forehead before standing.

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Sakura awoke sometime later with her throat raw and neck bruised. As she rubs it gingerly with her fingers, she stares blankly at the food tray before her.

She never expected to see Sasuke again. The last time she saw him was when he left her, bare and sobbing on the dirtied ground of the battlefield. At some point, she must've passed out because when she woke up, she found herself in this makeshift prison. It was her tower, locked away from sight and confined to a windowless existence.

For the longest time she didn't even know why he left her alive. Then, demands for her to pledge allegiance to the new hokage started coming and she realized that poor, defenceless Haruno Sakura was not completely useless after all.

As far as she could gather, the others had surrendered to defeat; falling, one at a time to the pressures of reality and taking the oath of loyalty all former nins opposing the Uchiha were required to make. Ino, Choji, Shino... All of them were forced to recognize that the world they'd been fighting for no longer existed. She didn't blame them, really. What good was fighting and dying when no hope remained. They still had lives, they had people to live for and families to protect whereas she had no one. She had nothing but a broken dream that belonged to someone else.

It was a month into her imprisonment that she realized her importance. In the midst of water-torture, with her head, hair and body soaked from being dunked under the ice-cold water and repeatedly brought within an inch of death that she uttered a silent, "why don't you just kill me" for the first time.

The gruff, "we can't" that slipped out from the nin's loose lips caught her attention, and in the days that followed she pried for more information. She took whatever beatings that stemmed as a result of her questions, until finally, it leaked that certain factions in the shinobi world believed that without her oath of loyalty to Sasuke's new regime, there was cause enough for whispers of resistance. No one dared to act on such whispers, but so long as Haruno Sakura remained locked up and defiant, there was hope for a future without an Uchiha as hokage. If she were to die, it would only solidify her martyrdom. She was a symbol of resistance, even if her will to fight came from a dream that had no possibility of coming to fruition.

She didn't want to be anyone's martyr, but it made her sicker to think she was simply some political ploy of the man who destroyed her world. He took everything from her and still he wanted more, all the while having the arrogance to pretend that she was nothing except a worthless, pathetic girl.

An _annoyance. _Isn't that what he said.

Scoffing at some of the last words he'd spoken to her, she decided to show him what an annoyance she really could be. In a childish act of stubbornness, she grabbed the cup of water on the tray and flung it at the door. Watching with mirth as its contents splashed all over the heavy, metal door and rolled down in thin rivets to pool on the floor. With anger still coursing through her veins and filling her with a fleeting sense of strength, she grabbed the tray and hurled it at the wall as well.

The hard plastic clattered to the ground, the sound of its impact still reverberating off the walls while the small piece of bread rolled into some corner of the room. Unsatisfied with the damage, she somehow found it in her to stand and march over to the discarded tray. She gripped it tight in her hands and proceeded to smash it against the wall, again and again.

She beat it into the wall until her hands were bloodied and it finally broke into several pieces. With the last of her strength she located the piece of bread and ground it into a million tiny crumbs, scattering its pieces on the floor.

_Let's see you shove it down my throat now_, she thought wryly, coming to rest on her familiar foam mattress and stare proudly at all the new dents she'd created in the wall.

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Her body tensed when the door handle creaked on the other side of the door. Green eyes carefully stare the floor directly in front of the door as it swings open. She couldn't help but wince when the door hit the discarded cup she'd been given earlier.

They both watch the cup roll for several feet before it finally comes to a stop with a light tap against the wall. It was the same wall the pieces of her torn up tray lay scattered.

His onyx eyes narrow in disapproval. Quickly, he scans the room for the piece of bread that had accompanied the obliterated tray. No doubt prepared to make good on his threat. He finds it in the far corner; at least, crumbs of it littering the dirty floor. When his sights return to the sitting pink-haired female, he sees the cuts on her hands and understands exactly the cause of all the mess.

It seemed the guards he had watching her did a poor job of disciplining her in any effective manner and now he was left to squeeze out the last of that rebellious nature from her.

"Get up," his harsh voice cuts through the barren room like kunai.

Her hands ball into tight fist in her lap and she stares defiantly at the ground.

With his patience worn thin, he makes his way over to her, noting how tense her body grows with each step taken. He did not take lightly to disobedience.

"I said," he reaches down to yank her up by the collar of her shirt, "Get. Up."

The way she flinches at the sound of his voice is impossible to miss, and she curses herself for it. To show any type of emotion in front of him put her at a disadvantage. Especially if that emotion was fear.

He was darker now. Heartless.

Perhaps he had been for a long time, only back then she was too naive to see it and chose to believe that there were still traces of goodness within him. He shattered that belief when he put her under the effects of mangekyou sharingan and pierced his arm through her chest. He smashed it further when he used her body like a common whore's and left her like trash.

She would have been happier having been left to rot than have to be confronted by this man again.

"Come," he commands, expecting her to follow as he relinquishes his hold on the fabric of her shirt and starts heading to the door.

Without his arm to support her, she stumbles back against the wall and stays there, not simply because she did not want to follow him to whatever punishment awaited her, but also because her muscles were weak and she didn't think it possible to take a step forward without collapsing.

"Have you forgotten how to walk in addition to how to eat?" He casts a glance to her as he asks the question. There is a hint of amusement in his tone, as if he takes pleasure in demeaning her.

Bravely, or perhaps foolishly, she glares at the ground as she spits out her retort, "The only thing I have forgotten, is to listen to anything you have to say."

"That's a shame," his tone is dripping with sarcasm, and before she realizes it, he's returned to standing directly in front of her. For the first time, she notices how much taller he is than her. Several inches at least, because her eyes are parallel with his collarbones.

He leans in close, too close, to speak dangerously in her ear, "That means I will have to teach you how to obey all over again."

"No," she pushes on his chest to generate space between them. Being near him forced up traumatic memories she'd tried hard to forget.

He snatches up her wrist in his hand and yanks her towards the door, finding it easy to exert physical control over her in such a pathetic state. As they reach the threshold between the door and the hall, she digs her heels in, trying desperately to stay in her prison, to which she has attached some imaginary measure of safety. Outside her room always meant bad things.

_What an annoying girl_.

His hold on her wrist is bruising as he drags her down the hall; it's even more painful when he forces her stumbling body down a flight of stairs without caring that her legs had a difficult time keeping up. More than once, she had to brace herself against the wall to keep herself from tumbling down to the bottom. She doubted he would break her fall. Maybe he'd even enjoy it.

Pushing open a door to a modest sized room, he leads her to a small table and shoves her down into a waiting chair where she's confronted with a plate of green beans, carrots and fish, along with a small portion of rice. The scent of fresh food enters her nostrils and immediately causes her mouth to water. Perhaps a plain meal by most standards, it appears more as a feast to her hungry eyes since it had been quite a while since she had _real_ food.

It takes everything in her not to scarf the food down. Instead, she turns her lips down in contempt and stubbornly looks away.

"I won't ask you again," he warns dangerously, as he comes to lean casually against the table. She knows full well what he means, and though her heart rate spikes in alarm of his menacing aura, she decides to feign ignorance.

Softly, she informs him, "I don't know what you mean."

A moment of silence passes where she waits expectantly for his response.

Whatever remained of his patience finally snaps and he reaches forward to roughly take hold of her chin so that he can force her mouth open. She didn't even know when he had picked up the chopsticks, only that the instant he had her mouth propped open, she found a pile of rice shovelled in.

She fights to spit it out, but his hand clamps down over her lips and nose. Then she has to fight just to keep herself from choking.

"Swallow." His steely tone is matched with a hard stare.

She tries to shake her head in refusal but finds her mobility limited with the large hand covering half her face.

The urgency to breathe starts to intensify and she is fully aware that the only way to end this is to gulp down the food inside her mouth. While her mind tells her it's preferable to suffocate than continue living, her body's natural instinct seeks survival.

In the end, she is helpless to resist and swallows everything inside her mouth.

Sasuke wastes no time in shovelling in another mouthful of her dinner.

They continue until she is defeated and obeys without struggling. Mutely parting her lips for each new bite. Chewing, swallowing and repeat. She stares across the room in a trance and remains in that state long after her plate is emptied and she is led back to her room to fall asleep on her flimsy, foam mattress.

From that point on, he is always present when she's given meals.

.

.

.

She presses her hands flat against the wall she's leaning against when the door opens with a violent shove to reveal a tall, slightly plump man. His golden eyes narrow in on her and lips turn up in a sick smirk as he studies her frail body.

"Will you take the oath today?" He asks snidely, mood fowl as ever.

Ever since Sasuke had become her primary caretaker, if you could call it that, she'd follow the same routine day-after-day. Every morning, an hour or so after breakfast, he'd send in one of these annoying guards to ask for her allegiance.

Just the same as always, she raised her chin and glared at the man before her as she replied with an unwavering, "No."

"Dumb bitch," the brutish guard spits out the insult and walks over to her, grabbing her chin so that he can get up and in her face. "Do you really think you can defy Uchiha Sasuke," it's stated as a question but she knows that to answer is to fall into his trap, and provide nothing more than an excuse for him to release his frustrations on her.

"You know," he scoffs, "If you weren't such a fucking eyesore, I bet you'd make for a good ride." In his eyes, something dangerous –lecherous– forms and she is immediately hit with a wave of nausea. Bile rises in her throat and knees start to tremble when she feels his finger stroke her cheek in a sickeningly sweet gesture.

A resounding slap echoes off the wall, and they both remain still for several seconds with nothing but her harsh breathing to fill the silence. She is surprised, perhaps he is as well, that she actually managed to catch him with his guard down and land a hit on his cheek.

For her triumph, she is rewarded in kind with a punch to her left cheek. He then throws her to the ground to deliver a ferocious kick to her abdomen. Then another. And another.

He leaves her wheezing, with the metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat, but at least he leaves her with her dignity intact.

.

.

.

As she quietly chews on the piece of bread given to her with a bowl of lukewarm soup, she senses that his eyes are on her. Again. Always watching. Observing. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge yet she tries her best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being dissected and puts greater emphasis on finishing her dinner as quickly as possible so she can be rid of his company.

"You know," he starts with amusement evident in his voice, "If you weren't so stubborn, they wouldn't hit you."

She waits until she's finished chewing the last of her bread before pushing the tray away and glaring at him, "Do you suffer from some form of delusion to think that, any response I give them, is justification to be beaten."

A smirk tugs up the corners of his mouth and he tilts his head, "You see, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

She thinks to herself that any type of expression on his face doesn't really suit him.

"Don't you think it would be easier, if you just took the oath like everyone else?" He takes a lazy step toward her and lets his crossed arms fall to his sides. It's the first time he's brought this subject up in the weeks since he took over control of her life.

She contemplates the question before answering. Loose strands of pink hair fall in front of her eyes as she shakes her head, "No." Her voice is soft, lacking its usual fight as she continues, "To do so would just be living a lie."

When her dull green eyes look up, he frowns, "I'll never accept you as hokage."

_They both know the name of the person she would accept_.

"I won't make an oath to you," she bravely meets his eyes with her chin tilted high even though her fingers shake nervously and her heart feels ready to leap out of her chest. It wasn't so much his ability to kill her that terrified her, so much as it was his ability to toy with her emotions and leave her psychologically damaged. He spared no opportunity to put her down, and point out her weaknesses.

"You will." It was a short, clipped out response.

His self-assurance in her inevitable surrender grated her nerves, causing her eyes to light up in determination. "I won't." She affirmed, and as if to prove her point, she added, "I'm not the same girl anymore. I don't love you. I don't even _like _you."

That amused smirk works its way back on his features, and she finds herself sliding back a little further to the wall. He watches her like a hawk as he sets about a sluggish pace to the wall she braces herself against.

Snidely, he remarks, "Don't think, just because you've grown a backbone, that it makes you any less the weak, crying girl you've always been."

She purses her lips and stares blankly at the door, silently urging him to take his leave.

It is not the response he had hoped for.

"Half your friends think you're dead," he brings up the past to hurt her and sees that he is successful by the way her eyes twinge with a hint of regret. "The other half think you want to stay locked up." _But she did, didn't she? At least out of spite towards him. _

"There hasn't been a single incident of murder since the end of the war," he states matter-of-factly.

"_Revolution_," she corrects, using the name he had called it all that time ago.

Pretending not to hear her, he adds, "Crime is at an all time low as well."

"I suppose your citizens should be grateful for all that you've done," her tone is sarcastic and full of acidity as she gives him her most hateful glare.

He takes another step closer to his prey, his raven hair sways from the motion.

"They are."

His low voice seems to ring loudly off the walls of her eardrums, and she has to fight the urge to scoff at his self-righteous attitude. It's when she looks back at him that she sees his mood is beginning to sour. She can see it in the way his onyx eyes seem to look right through her, with hints of something dangerous fraying at the edges. The room seems to fall a few degrees cooler.

"Because of me, the next generation won't have to know what war is. They won't have to see their loved ones die for beliefs; chopped down because of opposing sides." He pauses for a moment of reflection before remarking, "What people really need is a powerful ruler to keep them in line. With power comes peace."

At that, she cannot hide the way her face morphs into an expression of disgust, mixed with disbelief. "You don't seriously believe that," his even stare seems to suggest that he does.

"You may have created peace, but at what cost? People are too afraid to live, too afraid to put their faith into anything. There needs to be understanding." Naruto knew how to make people understand. "The only thing you've accomplished is to use fear to cow people into submission." _Like you want to do with me._

His only response is to look down his nose at her.

In frustration shakes her head and shuts her eyes. Maybe he just doesn't care for what she has to say.

He never did seem to listen to a single thing she said to him.

Tired with the conversation, she drops her head to stare at the hands in her lap. Her shoulders sag and some of her hair falls forward to frame her porcelain face. With bitterness in her voice, she whispers out, "You're not the only one who's suffered, Sasuke."

"_That_," he bites out the word, full of contempt as he closes the gap between them and reaches his hand out so that he can grab her chin roughly and force her to look up at him from the ground, "is exactly what pisses me off about you."

With his figure towering over her, she is forced to switch from sitting on her legs to kneeling before him. Even so, her neck strains under the forceful hold of his hand.

"You suffer the smallest of hardships, and you think it means that you could possibly understand what it's like to have everything taken from you in the blink of an eye." She says nothing but tries to free herself from his tight grasp.

"What do you know of _loss_," his words are full of derision and match the intensity of a slash to the chest.

"I know that you killed Naruto," for the first time in months she feels tears start to well up, "you locked Kakashi away on some island," her voice quivers and eyesight starts cloud over. He's nothing more than a blur of black and pale skin to her. Still, she can tell that he is looking at her full of disgust and hatred.

"Because of you," the first tear drop rolls down her cheek, "my parents..." The floodgates open and a torrent of tears cascade down her face, sprinkling the ground with tiny droplets of salty water. She can't bring herself to finish her sentence.

_What did I do to deserve your hatred. _

"I had nothing to do with what happened to your parents." There is no sympathy in his tone.

"If you had just let them see me," angrily she swipes one side of her face to wipe away unwanted tears. "You let them think I was dead!"

"No," he shoves her face away, as if repulsed by her tears and then grabs her arm to pull her up and push her against the wall.

Instantly, her entire body turns inward. Her arms wrap around her body, eyes and jaw clenches shut, and she presses her chin tightly to her shoulder to get as far away as possible in the short space provided.

Harshly, his low and hurried voice reaches her ears, "You could have seen them whenever you wanted. All you had to do was one little thing; recognize the new system and me as your hokage, but you couldn't even do that."

She is appalled to feel his hot breath fanning across her cheek and desperately wishes that she could just sink into the wall behind her.

"Everyone else relented, but poor, _pathetic _Haruno Sakura had to refuse." He finds himself watching her pulse beat wildly in her neck. She really was a delicate and fearful creature.

"Stop," she muffles out, not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say.

He didn't heed her request. He never did listen to anything she had to say. Instead, he went in to destroy the foolish accusation she clung to simply to guard herself from blame.

"You're parents were driven to their graves by _your _stubborn actions. _Not_ mine."

"That's not..."She wants to find something to throw back at him. Something to direct her hatred back towards him and not herself, but can find nothing. Inside, she already believes he's right.

"And _for what_," he sees her flinch and moves in closer, lips barely an inch from her ear and his arm coming to rest on the wall above her head. He's close enough to inhale her scent and feel the heat radiating from her skin. It's enough to stir something dark within him. Something he tried to forget and purposely avoided analyzing.

When he speaks again, he makes sure to carefully enunciate every syllable, each word like an additional stab to the heart. "You've thrown everything away just so you can cling to a dead man's deluded dream."

She shivers against him, looking thoroughly broken and incapable of launching anymore weak accusations. This was the image of her that he was familiar with. Fragile, crying and incapable of fighting back. He knew he could find it again.

For all her fire and quick-witted retorts, she really was the same girl as always.

He's about to step back when he hears it. The faintest of whispers. He has to strain his ears just to hear it.

"I know," she doesn't know what compels her to say it. It would be better for her if she just gave in and allowed him his defeat. "I know what it's like to have my innocence ripped from me by..." She finds enough courage to squint her eyes open and deliver a loathing look, "by a monster."

He glowers at her and finds himself suddenly overpowered by a sense of fury. It ignites in his veins, causing his onyx eyes to morph into a pair of mismatched colours. One blood red with his clan's cursed sharingan and the other a light shade of lavender, possessing the all-powerful rinnegan.

Seeing the danger in his eyes, she manages to squeeze herself out from between the wall and his menacing frame. Her green eyes dart every inch of the room for some idea of how to escape him, but what could she do when she was trapped inside a small room with someone more powerful than any other shinobi. Her knees tremble, threatening to giveway beneath her and every hair on her body stands on edge.

She doesn't have time to formulate a plan.

Before she realizes what's happening, she finds herself slammed roughly against the wall she had just escaped from. The back of her skull lands with a distinct thud, warmth erupting in the spot of impact. Overriding the pain, she tries to fight back, pounding her small fist to his chest and commanding in the strongest voice she can muster that he stop.

He ignores her struggles and instead presses his body flush against her. His fingers run along her curves, touching every inch he can reach. If only she had held her tongue, he wouldn't have caved to the ravenous hunger that had been building deep inside him for weeks.

His lips and tongue attack her neck, leaving a trail of small bruises down to the collar of her shirt and her skin slick with his saliva. The breathless gasp that passes through her lips only fuels him further. His hand slips under her shirt and gropes her breast. Kneading and teasing it until her nipple is pert.

In retaliation to the unwanted touches, she swipes her hand out and manages to catch a finger on his skin. It leaves an angry scratch on his cheek and forces a hiss to pass through his teeth.

Blinded with rage, he can't control himself anymore. He tears her shirt off her and takes the breast he'd neglected with his hand into his warm mouth.

"S-stop," she tries to suppress a moan, yet his ears miss nothing and he can't help but smirk. He rolls his hips against hers and releases a low groan. The action instantly reminds him of how sweet it felt to be buried deep inside her all those months ago.

Normally, he would tease the women he fucked more but tonight he is impatient. Or perhaps it's simply her that sparks this level of impatience in him.

He makes quick work of his pants before yanking off the remnants of her clothes and hoisting her up off the ground to wrap her creamy white thighs up around his waist. In the same motion, his hard member penetrates her core, earning himself a strangled cry from the girl who always professed to love him.

Again, she punches his shoulder, but it causes him little pain. At least nothing that couldn't be overshadowed by the feel of her tight and heated flesh hugging his manhood close.

"Maybe I am a monster," he grunts in between thrust, "But you loved this monster."

Pushing off from the wall, he moves to lay her on the crumpled up bed sheet, finding it easier to take her roughly on the floor in the midst of her struggles.

"What does that make you?" His raspy breath hits the shell of her ear, and she finds her squirms stilled by the question.

Tilting her head to his ear, their cheeks brush together. Had the situation been anything but what it was, it might have seemed intimate in nature. She wasn't stupid enough to believe such.

"A fool," she whispers in scorn. Hating every bit the part of her that once loved him. She no longer felt such feelings for him, but she was no less sickened by her past naiveté.

He has to agree with her short statement. She professed her love for him again and again; like a dog seeking out its master.

Well, he thought with twisted desire, she had him now, buried deep inside her.

_Isn't this what you wanted. _

Her fingers wrap around his biceps and nails dig into the skin as an unfamiliar, and unwanted, coil begins to grow taut within her. Their breathing becomes laboured and bodies slick with perspiration. After some time, she bites her bottom lip to keep her from releasing any unwanted mewls of pleasure. The last thing she wants is to like this, but her body has its own traitorous ideas and starts to move against his with a yearning to be satisfied.

In a few short minutes, she arches her back and feels the bundle between her legs snap, sending rivets of pleasure coursing through her body. With her wet maidenhood clenching tightly around him, the raven-haired male is quick to follow. With a grunt, he spills his hot seed deep into her womb and dripping down her thighs.

As he comes down from his high, he drops his forehead to rest on her shoulder and lets his shallows breaths beat against her chest, which rises and falls in a similarly erratic fashion.

She has a hard time catching her breath under his weight, but as reality quickly starts to close in on her, she starts to think that the real reason why she has a difficult time normalizing her breathing is because of the disgust that suddenly overwhelms her.

This wasn't what sex was supposed to be like.

A gag threatens to work its way out from the back of her throat. The shame and humiliation for having received any form of pleasure from the intimate act is evident in the way her cheeks burn red and fresh tears form in her eyes.

Without warning he pulls out to make a hasty retreat before she has time to soak his clothes with the unshed tears that threaten to fall. It only makes her revulsion worse when she realizes that he hasn't even shed a single article of clothing, unlike her, who's completely bare.

He had used her again, to fulfill his need. Just the same as last time.

Through the corner of his eyes he sees her roll over, grabbing the soiled sheet he'd taken her on and wrapping it tightly around herself. He leaves her to breakdown, soaking the floor with her tears.

.

.

.

The next morning he returned, tossing a navy yukata at her and telling her to dress. She might have refused out of spite, but with her shirt torn and bed sheet a filthy reminder of the night before, she is in no position to turn away clean clothes.

A tray with a bowl of steamed rice and a cup full of water is left in the centre of the room. He leaves, allowing her to eat without his watchful gaze for the first time since he re-entered her life.

It isn't until days later that he finally takes her to bathe, where she furiously scrubs away all traces of his sin.

If only it would last.

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.

.

He starts making more frequent visits to her dingy little room in the late hours of the evening to have his way with her. At some point in time she grows used to it and only puts up superficial struggles. They both know she can do nothing to stop him, but it helps her sleep better at night knowing that she didn't simply roll over and spread her legs for him like a common whore.

She now had a proper bed to sleep in at night. Gone was that flimsy foam mattress that did little to comfort her at night. She supposed she should be happy about it, only that she's certain the only reason he brought the bed is so that he can fuck her with greater comfort to himself.

There are a few things she learns from his visits.

The first is that he doesn't like to linger. He simply satisfies a need and departs. He doesn't have it in him to do pillow-talk or cuddle; not that she wants such things from him. At one time, yes. When she was younger, she simply thought the two things went hand-in-hand with sex. Now she knows better. Sex to Sasuke is simply that, a physical act without any greater significance. The very thought of him staying any longer than necessary is enough to make her sick.

The second is that, no matter how well he masked his emotions on his face, she could easily tell the mood he was in from the way he took her. He was either angry or frustrated at some thing or another that she had little control over, or worse, did it for pure amusement. To toy with her emotions and prove to her that even without her oath, he still held all the authority. All the control.

He never did bother to ask her to swear allegiance to him after that first night that he forced himself upon her in this room.

_Are you still unhappy? _She wanted to ask but kept that question locked away.

The third and final thing she discovered is that he never kisses her. At least, not on the lips. He teased her with kisses on any part of her body _except _her mouth. Even to her it seemed silly to admit that she had sex with him countless times but was still in possession of her first kiss.

Did he reserve his kisses for some other woman?

It was another question she would never bother to ask.

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.

.

She finds herself pinned beneath him with his fingers tracing down her sides, greedily heading towards the obi that kept her yukata fastened shut. Impatiently, he yanks it loose and pries apart the two folds of fabric so that he can get to what he really wants.

Tonight was one of those nights where he wanted amusement. The colourful bruises that dotted her neck and chest were evidence of that.

Normally she would simply shut her eyes and wait for him to finish, but this time she bitterly muses aloud, "I wonder what your law-abiding citizens would think of their hokage if they knew he forced himself upon his prisoners."

Didn't he once gloat about how low the crime rate was under his rule, yet here he was.

He pauses for a moment after nudging her legs apart, breath hitting her chest at an even tempo. For a few terrifying seconds, she thinks he might react violently to her insult, disguised as a question.

"I suppose," he enters her swiftly and elicits a gasp from her, "they would assume you enjoy being fucked by your beloved teammate." She is sickened when she feels him smirk against her shoulder, followed by a tender kiss of mocked affection.

"You're disgusting," the slight comes out more breathless than she intended, though the words are more for herself than anything. She didn't understand how her body could react to his unwanted ministrations.

Fingers dig into his shoulders as she braces herself against his looming figure and she lowers her head in resignation, despising the way her hips rise to meet his dominating thrusts. One of his hands buries itself in her rosette hair, tilting her head so that he can ravage her neck with open mouthed kisses.

"I _hate_ you," this time she managed to spit the words out with more conviction.

Unmoved by her insults, Sasuke groaned out a low, "Whatever," before lifting one of her legs over his shoulder and picking up his pace to signal the end of their little discussion. He never was one for conversations.

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.

.

She watches him from the bed, wrapped tightly in her bed sheet, as he hastily picks up his discarded clothes from the floor. Always as eager to leave her as he is to have her.

Grabbing his shirt, he quickly throws it over his head, pulls it down roughly and scans the room for any remaining articles of clothing he may have forgotten. Finding nothing, his fingers reach for the door handle but before he turns it, a hoarse whisper manages to escape the lips of the woman behind him.

"Why..." Her curiosity overrides her ability to remain silent.

She's stunned when instead of ignoring her, he turns around. Soft footsteps rap against the floor as he makes his way over to her. When his fingers reach out for her she flinches, and clings more tightly to the sheet, expecting him to slap her for asking something stupid.

Instead, his fingers brush gently over the skin of her cheek, heating every inch he touches with unnerving tenderness. Leaning down, he whispers in her ear, watching as her eyes widen and irises dilate in surprise.

"Because," he murmurs lowly, "You're my prisoner and..." She's sickened by the smirk she sees, "Because I can."

He leaves her to contemplate her solitary existence.

How different things turned out from what she expected.

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><p><strong>AN:** Hm, I wish my writing style was more gripping. Wanted to make Sasuke dark but not insanely out of character, which is hard for this type of scenario (at least for me... I thought it'd be unrealistic to have him possessive at this point). Also Sakura, strong but realistically so. I don't know... Ahhh, this is all rambles. Sorry!

Opps, always forget that this site takes away the breaks I make when I copy/paste so for the first few people who clicked on this, must've been confusing ^^;


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Managed to write another chapter. There are still more ideas I have but I feel too lazy to finish right now (it will take days just to write it, nevermind the editing orz), so I'm uploading this chapter as it is. Guess this is not a oneshot anymore, good job me (not). I feel like I have to update before the Naruto manga ends in two chapters or else this entire fic will seem completely AU.

**Rating: M** (same as previous chapter).

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><p><strong>CHAPTER II <strong>

Trapped beneath him with his legs straddling either side of her hips and his arms framing her head, she stares blankly at the bare skin of his torso, which rests parallel to her line of sight. His rib cage expands and contracts as he fills his greedy lungs with large intakes of air. It never takes him long, however, to re-establish control over his breathing when he's done, being as physically fit as he is.

It's in the dim light and in the midst of recovering herself that she spots it. A small, purplish bruise right along his collarbone. Curiously, she eyes it, thinking it not so different from the ones he leaves painted on her own pale skin.

Unconsciously, her arm lifts from her side and fingers brush over it faintly in a clinical study. She should've realized sooner what it meant.

The delicate touch is enough to snap his breathing back to a steady, quiet pace. His attention shifts from focusing on the headboard to her face and he watches her warily through half-lidded eyes until he realizes what's ensnared her interest.

"Jealous." The way he says it more like a statement than an actual question leaves little room for her to confirm or deny the derisive jab.

Mutely, she shakes her head and quickly pulls back her hand as if burned by his flesh.

He discovers himself engraining the image of her hair plastered to her face with sweat and green eyes full of fatigue. No matter how many times he visited her bed, she continued to retain a certain innocence –purity– that even he could not seem to extinguish. He despised her for it, and convinced himself that part of the irresistible pull she had over him stemmed from some urge within him to stamp out the root of her innocence. He had yet to succeed.

Lazily, he removes himself from her, letting his eyes linger for only a few short seconds. In his arrogance, he understands the regret evident in her facial expression to mean that she is hurt by his disloyalty. The truth is that her regret is for reasons entirely different.

_If he had a willing partner, why did he need to use her. _

"Don't think that I reserve myself for you," he speaks harshly, thinking it necessary to tear up any hope in her heart that what he does with her is anything more than a physical need. Something uncontrollable and inexplicable. Purely animalistic in nature. This is how he has come to describe their rendezvous.

He reaches down to the end of the bed to retrieve his undergarments, and as he slips back into them, his obsidian eyes watch her closely as she turns her head to stare at some insignificant spot on the wall. Slowly, cautiously, her lips part, and she murmurs out a soft and rueful, "I _wish_ you would reserve yourself for her."

She speaks for a woman she knows nothing about, and for some reason, he finds that the afterglow from his orgasm is quickly overshadowed by a sense of annoyance.

Who was she to act so high-and-mighty in front of him.

He grabs her face, forcing her to meet him and sneers out, "Then what purpose would I have for you."

The brief hurt that flashes in her eyes is yet another mental image of her that will remain etched in his memory, but it isn't until her dull green eyes morph into something hard and full of scorn that he relaxes, soaking in her hatred like a second skin.

Climbing off the bed, he collects the rest of his clothes and observes out of the corner of his eyes how she hastily grabs the bed sheet to cover her nude form. As if, he hasn't already seen every inch of her body. The action forces a small scoff to bubble up from the back of his throat, but he decides he's had enough of her for one night and departs without any further remarks.

She truly was an infuriating girl, constantly plaguing the back of his thoughts.

.

.

.

Sometimes when she's left alone, she sits by the entrance to the room with her ear pressed against the heavy metal door so that she can listen to the conversations her guards had outside. Most of the time, they engaged in loud banter amongst themselves, with crude jokes and vulgar insults. Their occasional laughter served a harsh reminder that life really had continued outside her prison, as if she never even existed in it to begin with.

Her shoulders slump as she begins to wonder. Did her friends ever talk about her? Did they even think about her?

Probably not.

She shakes her head in an effort to cast the depressing thoughts from her mind. Sasuke most likely forbid them from mentioning her name.

Suddenly, the laughter outside her door subsides and voices quieten, taking on a more serious tone. She presses the side of her face more tightly to the door, trying to make out what was being said. On very rare occasions, she actually picked up details of small importance. Most of it was town gossip, but there were sometimes mentions of plans and policies, as well as Sasuke's movements. Although she could do nothing with the information she acquired, it somehow eased the uselessness she felt.

At the mention of Sasuke's name, a nervous anticipation starts to build in her chest. There's reference to a woman and something else. Her brows furrow in concentration , trying to make sense of the muffled voices. Were they talking about her? No. It was something about his personal life; an aspect of Uchiha Sasuke to which she'd never been privy to, even when they were younger.

If only they would speak a little louder. Both her hands are now pressed against the door as she leans her entire body into it, ignoring the cold that seeps through her clothes. Then she hears it. A word so strong and unmistakeable that can't help but drop her mouth open in shock and eyes widen.

There was no way...

Her fingers start to shake as she pulls away from the door and lets them drop to her lap. She doesn't know what to feel. Disgust, anger, sadness, envy... Hope. They all flutter through her chest, one after the other.

In the end, all she's left with is emptiness.

.

.

.

That one word mentioned by the guards continues to repeat inside her head for days. It's so overwhelming and grips her entire being so strongly that she feels like nothing more than an empty vessel, performing her daily, minimalistic routine mechanically and without thought.

In a way, it had nothing to do with her.

At the same time, it could change everything. Did it spell the end of her? Or the beginning?

Amidst her disbelief, a small voice tells her things might change. She tries desperately to cast the voice out, to keep the flicker of optimism at bay. Repeatedly telling herself that she was being foolish.

Still, she couldn't help but think...

Maybe Sasuke would have no use for her sooner rather than later.

.

.

.

Leaning against the door with his arms at his sides, he watches with mild amusement as she picks disinterestedly at the bowl of stew he's brought her for dinner. It was apparent that something was on her mind. What it could be, he could only guess. It wasn't as though she had a lot going on in her life. She'd been withdrawn and lost in thought for the past week. As a result, her reactions were slow and the usual fiery retorts she entertained him with were replaced with dull, one-word replies.

Rather than pry, he decides to tease.

"Do you need me to show you how to eat properly," he asks, condescending her with his tone.

She stops prodding the food with her spoon and instead, slowly sets it softly against the side of the bowl. Then, she delicately folds her hands in her lap, stares off to some point at the side of the room and replies with a demure, "No."

_Melodramatic_, he thinks.

"Perhaps," he starts as he makes his way over to the small table she sits at in the corner of the room, "You have forgotten what happens when you don't eat."

This latest game of hers is a bore.

"_Please_," she breathes out as he reaches for the spoon, a hint of desperation in her voice. She just wanted him to leave her be on this one occasion.

Her small plea causes him to pause shortly, though his intention to shove the spoonful down her throat is ever-present in the tense way he holds the spoon over the bowl of largely untouched stew. Still, he waits, sensing she wants to say something more.

"I'm just..." obsidian orbs watch her small hands clench the fabric of her yukata and attention moves to the floor. Her mind races for the right words, which remain stuck on the tip of her tongue.

At last, she sighs and shoulders sag, "Not hungry tonight."

She couldn't find it in herself to say _it_. To bring up the matter that had weighed heavily on her for days. Too fearful to have that small slither of hope crushed by whatever cold, harsh words he'd say in response.

This seemingly defeated version of her is as great an annoyance to him as her refusal to behave obediently. He decides to rectify it by grabbing her jaw and raising the spoon to her mouth. She refuses, of course. Giving a partial shake of the head and clenching her jaw shut.

She always made things more difficult for him than necessary.

Mistakenly, he spares a moment to observe her pink lips, pressed together tightly. Her eyes wince shut and cheeks tinge a slight shade of pink. For some reason, the image reminds him that he hasn't had her in over a week. His duties as hokage had kept him busy and limited the time he could spend with her to engage in more... laborious activities.

Not to mention the other _thing. _

Monotonously, her shallow breaths fan across the back of his hand. The steady rhythm is hypnotizing, keeping him in place and casting out his initial intentions.

Suddenly, he wants to have. With her thighs hugging his hips tightly, pulling him in closer, and her nails raking down his back as he buries himself deep inside her. Unconsciously his hand on her chin moves to her cheek and his thumb starts to brush over her soft skin.

Her lids crack open, widening as she comes to recognize the look in his eyes.

He wants her.

Something in her makes her snap at the realization. He couldn't want her. _Shouldn't _want her, not when that other woman...

Consumed by his lust, he reacts too slowly to prevent her hands from reaching up quickly, and grabbing his arm. The commotion causes some of the broth in the spoon to spill onto her lap yet he only has time to release a small 'tsk' before she begins spewing out words in an effort to temper his desire.

"Sasuke!" Her panicked voice instead causes him to smirk as he leans in, intent to get himself something sweet for dinner tonight.

"Wait," she continues her useless babble even as he drops the spoon in her lap so that he can use his hand for something else entirely. There wasn't any rush tonight, he could just get her to finish her dinner when he was done. One of his hands reaches up to yank out the elastic that ties her hair up before snaking down to grab the back of her neck. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her floral shampoo. His other hand works its way down her side, getting closer and closer to her most sensitive area.

Her body shivers against him, led astray by his intimate touches but her mind still works to maintain control over her body's natural instinct. She pushes against his chest with her right arm, to no avail.

"I should..." she begins weakly, still trying to find something to make him halt his actions.

His lips hover over her rapidly beating pulse and he's about to dart his tongue out when she manages to say something that stills him.

"I should congratulate you." It comes out stronger, more spiteful than intended but is pleased with the result nonetheless.

The cryptic sentence hangs over them as he repeats it in his head. He wants to ignore it, to continue what he's barely initiated. It was a trap, after all. Yet, his calculating mind cannot leave it be.

Slowly he pulls back, disentangling himself from her, knowing full well this is the result she sought to achieve. He doesn't ask aloud _why _he needs to be congratulated, his narrowed eyes on her are enough to ask it for him.

It takes her longer than he to recover from their proximity. He has to wait a full minute before she is capable of talking once more.

"Your _wife_," she accentuates the word and swallows before continuing, "she's pregnant, isn't she?"

She cast a curious glance at him. Clearly, gauging his reaction to determine whether her assumption is correct. It was the little tidbit of information she'd gleaned from eavesdropping on the guards. Something she'd spent the better part of the past week telling herself wasn't possible. How could Sasuke ever be a father? It was all wrong. At least, a part of her desperately hoped it was wrong. There was no way an heir to the Uchiha name could ever grow up to be _normal_. How many tragedies did the world have to suffer at the hands of the Uchiha's?

She receives her answer when his shoulders stiffen and he takes a further step back.

_So she was right. _

Oddly, the part of her question that he takes offense to is not what she expects.

"She's _not_ my wife," he all but spits out, disgusted by the very notion. His glare hardens as all the desire he'd felt bubbling within him short moments ago vanishes, replacing with an obvious distaste for the subject matter.

"Girlfriend, then," she carelessly corrects herself, not bothering –or caring– to recognize the mounting frustration building in the raven-haired male. Honestly, she'd rather have him angry than _wanting_.

Again, he is insulted by her word choice and scowls, "She's not—"

"It doesn't matter," her voice rises over his. She too, is frustrated by his nit-picking over the title she presumed to give whoever this woman was. Did it really matter. Wife, girlfriend, lover. Certainly, whichever it was, it something she was not. And, as much as she feared the birth of another cursed Uchiha, part of her rejoiced. If he had a child, and some other woman who wanted him, maybe he would leave her alone.

"Whatever she is to you," she begins again, softly this time, "You must care—"

"How naive are you," he bites out while slamming his fist against the wooden table. The force of impact causes the bowl to rattle and a few cracks to run down the bumpy wooden planks. He couldn't understand why he found it was so infuriating that she seemed to _need _to classify and attach significance to a woman she didn't even know. It was just some stupid woman. One that he barely knew and saw only as a brief dalliance. It's not as though he was faithful to anyone.

"Do you think you have to _love _someone," he sneers out the word with his lips curled in contempt,_ "_to make a fucking baby." How unbelievably like her to put some pathetic, romantic notion on something that was nothing other than a display of biology.

She cringes in response to his crass statement, and, although she shouldn't have been surprised by the harsh viewpoint he held, she couldn't accept that he would allow a child to be conceived in such dysfunction.

"But," her voice is low, cautious, with a hint of skepticism fraying the edges as she asks, "You wouldn't have a child with someone you hate..."

_Like her_.

Perhaps she was looking for reassurance.

In this nightmarish existence, her barren womb is the one courtesy she's gifted. She suspects some kind of birth control is administered in her food. It was that, or her health really was in such a miserable state that her body no longer focused on its biological need for reproduction and instead put all its efforts towards survival.

Against her better judgment, she lifts her chin to send a tentative glance his way.

The only emotion she sees on his face is derision, though she's not given much time think of anything else since his hand reaches out in a blur to grasp her elbow. With his strength, he easily hauls her up and throws her down to the ground.

She lands hard on her back, having the wind knocked out of her and only the briefest of moments to stare up at the dirty ceiling, with its flickering fluorescent light, before his foot lands dead centre on her chest. It's not a bone-crushing stomp, though it's certainly enough to leave her bruised. What makes it uncomfortable is how he applies enough weight to it to keep her pinned to the floor and incapable of taking the large gulp of air her body desperately wants.

"I can't—" She wants to say that she can't breathe, only gives up midway. It was a waste of effort on someone who didn't really care.

Sasuke can hardly bear to look at her, with her weak body and rose coloured view of how the world ought to be. It seemed no matter what the problem was, she rushed to the conclusion that love and understanding were the answers. He could already see it in her eyes. Did she honestly think he would settle down and make himself some storybook, happy little family.

Gritting his teeth in aggravation, he begins to apply more pressure against her chest, slowly squeezing the air out in her precious lungs.

As she claws at his ankle, he glares down at her, fighting every urge in his body to simply crush her beneath his weight in one swift kick and rid himself of the present eyesore that she is.

"Do you think, that just because I'll have a child with someone, that I'm going to love them," the rage inside him bubbles to the surface once again. He never could understand her and Naruto's sickly sweet ideas on how life ought to turn out.

"Happy endings don't exist, so get this through that thick skull of yours," his voice is low and dangerous as he embarks on shoving a dose of cold reality into that ridiculous imagination of hers.

"Nothing is going to change because of this. I don't care about her or about some child..." He pauses, leaning down to ground out, "Least of all, _you_." To accentuate his point, he sends more weight to his foot, watching under narrowed eyes as her cheeks turn from a rosy colour to dark red and face grimaces in pain.

He can't explain why he deems it necessary to eradicate her way of thinking or why he constantly needs to reaffirm that she is nothing to him. Perhaps he was tired of having the same battle simply disguised in different conversations.

Whatever the reason, his blood ran cold because of it.

Just as it becomes too much for her, and she's on the cusp of succumbing to suffocation, he releases her, watching her pathetic form as she rolls onto her side, coughing and holding her neck while taking in ragged breaths of air.

When her breathing has finally steadied, he mutters out an impassive, "You never change."

Always clinging onto hope.

_Nor do you_, he thinks he hears when he steps out the door, though it may just as well have been his imagination.

.

.

.

Hours later she's finally picks herself up from the cold, cement floor and shuffles over to the bed, chastising herself the entire time.

She should've known better than to expect her life to change.

It was funny, really. A smile creeps its way onto her face as she eases onto the bed and pulls the blanket up over her form.

Sasuke had everything he ever wanted now. Revenge, revolution, and the continuation of his cursed blood in another woman's womb. How lucky he was, compared to her.

Despite the pain in her chest, her smile morphs into a wider grin. Laughter soon follows. It's uncontrollable. Even the hand she uses to cover her mouth isn't enough to muffle the sound entirely.

God, she hadn't laughed in the longest time, and here she was laughing over absolutely nothing.

Did Sasuke ever laugh, now that he had everything?

She doubts it. What an odd thing that would be.

When her laughter finally subsides some minutes later, she doesn't even bother to wipe the tears that had formed in the corner of her eyes as a result. Instead, she rolls over and drifts to sleep with a smile on her face.

The world really had lost all hope.

.

.

.

_'__Hey, hey Sakura-chan!' _

_A muffled 'Mmph' is all that replies. _

_'__C'mon, I want to tell you something.'_

_'__Tell me later,' she rolls onto her side facing away from the overly energetic voice, 'I'm trying to sleep.'_

_'__You've been sleeping so much lately, just listen to me for a sec.'_

_'__...' _

_'__You're just going to ignore me!' _

_Sighing, she rolls onto her back with her eyes still closed. She rests her forearm over her eyes to keep the glaring sun from penetrating her lids and grumbles, 'Fine. I'm listening.' _

_'__Hey look! It's a robin. Right over there!' The spirited male shakes her shoulder to gain her attention. _

_Grudgingly, she lowers her arm to peek open an eye and look over to in the direction he's pointing. The bright sun is blinding, and it takes her sight a moment to adjust. _

_'__It's not a robin, idiot.'_

_'__Ehhh? Really?'_

_'__Can't you tell the difference between a robin and a mockingbird?' She rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation. _

_'__Well... They're both birds.'_

_'__You're hopeless,' shaking her head she gives him a stern look. 'Just listen, its song changes.'_

_They both listen silently as the bird's tune changes from loud chirps to a pleasant song, and then to a high pitched whistle._

_'__Oh! You're totally right!' White teeth flash her as the blonde grins widely. 'Do you think mockingbirds have their own song?' _

_She replies with a careless, 'I don't know.' _

_'__Just guess, yes or no?' _

_When she doesn't answer, he prods her shoulder again. _

_'__Naruto,' she grumbles, wishing he'd allow her to return to napping, but his bright blue eyes implore her to answer. _

_'__I've never heard them sing their own song...' Giving a lasting look at the bird, sitting high up in the branches of a tree several yards away, she bitterly remarks, 'I think they like to mock us, trick us into thinking they're something else.'_

_The blonde whistles beside her, 'That's a bit cynical, Sakura-chan.'_

_She wonders when he picked up such an adult word. _

_'__I think they do.' _

_Looking up at him, she witnesses his face relax as he gazes at the mockingbird contemplatively. 'Maybe they just spend too much time trying to be something else, that they forget how to sing their own song.' _

_'__Naruto...' Her voice fades, at a loss for words. _

_'__It's easier to trick yourself into forgetting than others, don't you think?' _

_'__... I suppose so.' _

_'__Just make sure you listen for it, or you'll miss it, Ok?'_

_She is hesitant to reply, but manages a small, 'Sure.'_

_A comfortable silence passes between them. The cicadas buzz loudly; warm sun embraces them and a gentle breeze sends small strands of their hair dancing. _

_Sakura closes her eyes again, happy to resume sleeping at Naruto's side. It was safe. Comfortable. _

_'__Sakura-chan,' his figure looms over her, casting a shadow over her face that blocks out the sun's rays. In his voice, she senses a hint of worry. _

_Once again, she peers up at him and is perplexed by his sudden seriousness._

_'__I think one day, I'll need you to save me.' _

_'__What do you mean?' She gives a nervous laugh, not understanding where this was coming from. Naruto was always the one who did all the saving. In comparison to him, she was completely inadequate. _

_'__I can't explain it, but I know that you're the only one who can do it,' an uncharacteristic frown forms on his face. _

_'__Naruto,' she shakes her head, still smiling in disbelief of his unwarranted fear, 'You're the strongest shinobi, what could I possible do to—'_

_'__Just promise me Sakura-chan,' he grabs both her shoulders so tightly that she winces, 'Promise me you won't give up!'_

_'__I promise—!' She barely gets the words out before she realizes that his tears are soaking her shirt. His nails dig in painfully to her skin, breaking the surface and causing her blood to dribble out._

_'__I don't want to die! Don't let him kill me!' _

_An audible gasp escapes her. The weight of her guilt crushing her and causing her heart to clench. _

_Frantically, the blonde clutches her, begging her not to let him die. It hurt. It hurt so badly. She couldn't bare it anymore. She couldn't breathe; he was suffocating her with remorse. _

_The sky turns black and rain starts to fall, only as it soaks him above her, she realizes it isn't water that pours down on them. It's blood. His blood. He's going to drown her in his own blood. Everything around them fades, and in the blackness she feels the walls closing in on them. _

_Somewhere in the distance, the mockingbird mimics his cries. _

_'__Naruto!'_

She comes up from under the water choking, lungs burning and tears streaming down her cheeks. Every part of her body hurts as if thousands of small needles are piercing her skin. With each gulp of air, the hammering of her heart in her eardrums grows louder until it is deafening.

It takes several seconds for her to realize that she's in the bath and had only just been dreaming.

"It's not real, it's not real," she whispers, shaking her head and clinging to either side of the porcelain tub.

A jolt shoots down her spine when the guard starts pounding on the door, a clear indication that she's been in there too long. She panics, fearing the prospect of being walked in on. As her heart leaps in her chest, she jumps up and reaches desperately for her clothing that rests on a small wooden chair nearby.

In her haste, she catches her foot on the edge of the tub and is sent careening, head-first into the chair. Her eyes screw shut and arms shoot out in an effort to brace for impact; it's against everything Tsunade taught her as a student but everything is different now.

She isn't strong.

She was never useful.

Naruto died because _she_ couldn't save him.

What good was she anyways.

Her forehead smacks into the corner of the chair hard enough to split the skin, though she's struck by how little it hurts. Fingers brush over the wound, feeling a warm and sticky substance upon contact. When she pulls her hand back, she sees them slick with blood.

_Did she grow immune to physical pain? _

On the other end of the room, the door handle starts to turn as the impatient guard decides to see what all the commotion is.

The panic resurges and she hastily throws on her yukata, fastening the tie around her hips tightly and in a double knot. _Not that it ever prevented a certain man from untying it._

She swings around, in time to face the door just as the gruff man on the other side pushes in. The room spins a little and wave of nausea hits her, forcing her to stumble a little before grasping onto the chair for support.

"The hell are you doing?" The light-haired male is more annoyed than concerned.

The blood that dribbles down her forehead and onto her cheek tickles her skin, causing enough distraction for her to ignore his question.

Simply, he shakes his head and drones out an impassive, "Whatever. Just don't kill yourself on my watch."

_Too much paperwork. _

.

.

.

She awakes from her sleep, staring at the ceiling until her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The only light that seeps into her room at this hour is that from the cracks outlining the door.

How long had it been since she saw the night's sky? Her arm raises, fingers pointing to the ceiling as she pretends to touch an imaginary starry sky above her. She's able to keep the fantasy alive for a few fleeting seconds but quickly she finds the activity of make-belief futile and a fruitless endeavour. A caged animal like herself didn't have room to pretend.

With a sigh, her arm drops to her side and she rolls onto her side, preferring to continue sleeping than face the boredom that comes with solitude. Solitude made her think too much about things she'd rather forget.

It's when she reopens her eyes in frustration of the restlessness that stirs within her that she notices a spot on the wall painted a darker colour from the rest. She squints her eyes, doubling her focus on the object in an effort to make it out, or at least find reason to chastise her mind for playing tricks.

Alarms go off inside her head when the object shifts slightly.

Realization dawns on her in a heart-stopping moment that she's not staring at an object but man.

With dread, her eyes start to travel the length of his legs, but immediately freeze when she catches the way his hands, smudged with dark blotches, lie dead at his sides. _Blood?! _

Her panicked, green eyes widen in terror before jumping up to his face for some kind of affirmation or denial of what she suspects she sees. The only thing that awaits her are his mismatched eyes, narrowed dangerously and full of such fury that her blood turns to ice in her veins. Her breathing stops and fingers grip the sheet covering her still body with such force that her knuckles turn white.

Although she knew to fear this man, she finds her terror reaching unparalleled heights. His entire aura screamed bloody murder. Is that where he was coming from? Was the blood on his hands that of some person he'd deemed unworthy of living?

_Didn't he say there was no more murder?_

Sasuke pushes off the wall and starts walking to her in slow, deadly steps. With each step he takes, her heart races faster. His lack of speech and unwavering attention on her only added to her foreboding. He was a wolf stalking his prey; ready and willing to rip her to sheds.

Already, her breaths turn to shallow pants and the tightness in her chest threatens to constrict her.

_Don't come any closer! _She wants to scream, beg him _not her_. Anyone but her. But, the voice inside her remains lodged in her throat.

He doesn't even blink when his fingers clasp the zipper on his shirt and slowly starts to pull it down.

The overwhelming need to flee grips every fibre of her being and she shoots up, scooting back to the far corner of the bed in a hopeless bid to maintain separation. How pathetic was she? Accepting of death, only if it were delivered by anyone except him.

If only the bed weren't pressed up against the wall, she could use it as a barrier between them.

"_Don't_," he hisses, eyes narrowing further as he stops midway across the room to slip out of his shoes and let his shirt fall to the floor.

She freezes in place, heeding his cold command in fear of reprisal. Tonight, his anger is not to be fed by refusals. Instead, she clings to the bed sheet, pulling it higher to her chest as her final defense and breaths out a shaky, "I don't know what you want..." If she knew, she could try to find something to say that would subdue the danger in his eyes. She shakes her head, not knowing exactly why. Perhaps trying to wake up from this nightmare.

He doesn't answer.

The bed dips under his weight. As he crawls towards her, she sinks further into the mattress, wishing it would swallow her whole. It was childish, she knew, but she lifts the sheet over her chin and shuts her eyes as if it will hide her from sight.

"Sakura," his deep voice sends tremors down her spine.

Seconds pass.

She's aware he is waiting for her to come out from hiding but her limbs won't allow her to lower the barrier. If anything, the unnerving silence and growing anticipation makes her shake even more.

Closer.

Closer he inches to her, until she can feel the heat from his body through the flimsy sheet that serves as her last salvation.

When, at last, his fingers grip the material, she clutches it tighter though her resistance is short the moment he starts to pull it down. Still, she is too scared to look at him, even as he pulls her down from the headboard and nudges on her shoulders so that she lies her back to the mattress.

Once he has her, he wastes no time with conversation. His kisses are hot and wet on her skin, moving down from her chin, to her throat and down her neck until they reach the dip between her twin mounds. The fabric of her yukata incenses him, lighting the fuse for his impatience and sparking a sudden shift in his pace. His movements grow hurried, more brusque. _Desperate_.

"Stop," she laments, pushing on his shoulder.

"_No_." There's an odd rawness in his voice, different from his usual detached, terseness. It's so peculiar that she temporarily relents her weak struggles in order to look down at him. Her view is obstructed by his raven hair, as dark as ink on her ivory skin. Even his hair was not as black as his heart.

There is nothing gentle in the way he spreads apart her yukata, or gropes her breasts, nor is she misled by the kisses that trail down the centreline of her torso. His movements slow, however, when he reaches her bellybutton and tongue dips out to tickle the inside.

The action elicits a startled gasp, a mixture of humility and unwanted pleasure. This is the last thing she wants to feel. What did it make her if she found pleasure in the arms of someone with blood on their hands? In an attempt to escape the growing tingling sensation in her gut, she squirms, wriggling away from his hot breath that beats against her skin.

He stills her, with his hands gripping her hips unbearably hard. His grasp is so tight that she can feel his fingers indenting her skin, promising to leave bruises in the morning.

"Sas... uke," squeezes out her lips past clenched teeth.

As if recognizing for the first time that he was hurting her, he relinquishes his grip and seems to apologize by stroking the area gently before moving to rest his splayed out hands on her stomach. It's awkward. Not at all a comfort the way he stares, transfixed on her abdomen, stroking gently with his thumbs as if to press any harder might break her. She doesn't know why, but something about it makes bile rise to the back of her throat. She was going to be sick if he didn't stop.

Slowly, his lips draw closer.

_No, no_. She didn't know what he was thinking but she had to stop him.

One of her hands grabs the back of his head, yanking out a few strands of hair while her nails scraped his scalp. "Don't," she hides her concern with anger.

_Don't_ _look at me like that._

Unrelenting, he plants a kiss on the intended spot and lets his lips linger.

Her body's reaction to the touch is overwhelming. It overrides her senses, making her limbs feel like stone and blood itch with the desire to tear through her veins. She was going to die. Her body was finally going to rip her to shreds from the inside out. Her spare hand has to clamp over her mouth to stop herself from throwing up.

Couldn't he see that he was killing her?

Against her will, she starts to cry. Softly, at first. Then it builds. Weeks of pent up tears, all rushing to escape at the same time. Why did she ever have to love him? Why did she have to save him? He was her curse, a scourge on the world.

"I hate you," she chokes out. And then again, for added measure, "I hate—"

Her hand in his hair slips, brushing over his cheek before he grabs her wrists and shoves it aside.

It was the strangest thing, she thinks as he climbs atop her stomach and grabs either side of her face. She could swear her fingers were damp.

It wasn't possible though...

In the next instant, his mouth crashes down onto hers, melding together and swallowing up any gasps that work there way up from the back of her throat. It's demanding, impatient. _So _like Sasuke that it hurt. Not the cold, monstrous Sasuke he was, but the past one. The one she knew. The one that was _human_.

Her hands fly up, palms flat on his chest as she struggles between wanting to push him away and pull him in closer. Under her hands, she can feel his heart racing. Again, she finds it strange. This wasn't how he was supposed to act. He shouldn't be kissing her. It confused her and blurred the perfect dichotomy she'd created for past Sasuke and present Sasuke.

_This wasn't him_.

_It was NOT him_.

Again and again, she tries to remind herself. _Don't let yourself be fooled, he's mocking you. _

He moans into her mouth when his hips roll against hers, though his need remains ignored as he instead opts to nibble on her lips and knead his fingers through her hair. One of his fingers even moves to stroke the gash on her forehead, as if it would make a difference in healing her any faster. _Don't give him what he wants. _She knows he's waiting for her to respond.

"Ah!" She cries out when he gives a quick tug on her hair, mimicking her earlier actions to him, only this time it's so that he can slip his tongue past her parted lips and ravage her mouth. His tongue moves slick against hers, exploring and claiming every part of her.

It's too much. She's overheating and her skin is flush.

Why was he doing this to her.

_It's not him_.

Wide, shimmering green eyes implore him for answers. Perhaps it was the kiss that had distracted her, for it's only now that she notices his eyes have returned to their default obsidian colour. In them, she doesn't find answers, but she does see fatigue, anguish...

What demons were consuming him this time?

It doesn't really matter.

"Sasuke-kun!"

She would regret it later. In the time being, she gives in, not questioning why he reacts with such fervor to the sound of his name. She's smothered by his need to be close, clinging to her tightly as he enters her and unrelenting in his attention to her body. She's never been good at reading him; it's only tonight that she discovers a new emotion in him that she never noticed before. The way he busies himself, never sparing a moment to steady himself. He was trying to forget. Of what, she didn't know, but she was sure of it. He was grieving.

Even after they cum for the first time, he doesn't let her go. He takes her again, and again. As many times as it takes for him to wear himself down and collapse exhausted on top of her, unable to think or remember anything more except the fatigue he feels.

Together, they fall asleep. Neither one capable of lifting a finger. The last image she has before drifting into a deep slumber is Sasuke's sleeping form, with his arm draped over her in a possessive hold.

She didn't know it was still possible for him to look so innocent.

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He wakes up beside her several hours later. Rather than make a hasty exit like usual, he lingers, tracing lazy circles on her rib cage as she sleeps.

The reason for why he stays escapes him, just as well as the reason for why he came in the first place. He doesn't know why, doesn't _care_ to know why. All he knows is that he was pulled there, of all places, in the midst of his turmoil. It made him angry. Murderous. When he first arrived in her room, watching her sleeping form, he truly thought he would kill her.

_'__Sasuke-kun!' _ His heart races, causing him to frown.

_Why did he have to come to her of all places?_

Rubbing his temple, he decides that he needs to get away from her before she wakes up, and moves to sit up.

"I'm sorry," she breathes out hurriedly, grasping his wrist tightly.

She was dreaming.

It doesn't stop his eyes from narrowing as he watches her lips part to murmur an _almost _incoherent, "_Naruto_."

Irritation worms its way into his heart, and he lashes out by yanking his hand out of her grasp.

She definitely was annoying, he thinks, as he sets about collecting his clothes and pulling them on none-too-quietly. _Infuriating_.

Before he leaves, he turns back to see her eyes staring blankly at him. Slowly, perhaps unknowingly to herself, her fingers trace over her lips. It was the first time she'd ever been kissed, even he knew that.

_It was his first as well. _

It's the look of curious wonder in her eyes that makes him bite out, "Don't think _you're _something special," before slamming the door shut.

It didn't mean anything. She was nothing to him.

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It isn't until days later she learns that the woman carrying his child had miscarried.

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><p><strong>AN's: **I wanted to thank everyone for the reviews/response on the first chapter! It was a pleasant surprise and is the reason why I decided to continue. There are still a few more twists I have in mind. Unfortunately it takes me quite a while to write things out... Still, I am grateful for your kind words and suggestions!

I feel like I wrote fluff... and then killed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** There is some overlap in this chapter with the previous, as it's my attempt to explain certain details more from Sasuke's side of things. I hope the flow of events in this chapter is not too confusing (it goes back and forth a bit). I'll still be editing this in the coming days.

Thank you greatly for all your reviews! I'd probably take even longer to update if people didn't motivate me to continue...

**Rating: M**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER III<strong>

Feather-light touches dance along his chest and abdomen, twirling and tracing invisible shapes on his skin. The playful movement of each touch sends an obvious intention, only accentuated by the strands of long hair that fall over the woman's shoulder as she leans in to press a kiss on a spot just above his navel.

Sighing, Sasuke remains unmoving, on his back with his shoulders and head leaning against the headboard. In his head, he could see green eyes staring up at him. There was something about the way she looked at him the day before. It was a distant expression, so cold and unlike her. It didn't hold maliciousness or anger, not even sadness or fear. It simply was. Empty and meaningless, unreadable, yet it was its lack of meaning that made it significant and had taken him aback.

_You're breaking her_.

A low giggle rumbles out from the female atop of him. _So _unlike _her_. It's enough to stir him from his reverie.

"Sasuke," she purrs while pressing her nude form to him. "Shall we go for another round?"

It's a question, but her smirk, combined with her hand sensually travelling lower is better confirmation for her intentions.

His eyes darken a fraction when she nibbles down on his collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. _As if_ he were hers. She's not quite so lofty, however, to believe that he is hers and hers alone. Their arrangement is casual, one of convenience. She thinks his power and position lends her the possibility of future gain, while he accepts the open invitation to her bed in order to fill an incredible hunger. She's not the only one he uses in an effort to fill it.

In the end, he grants her no favors nor does she satiate his hunger.

When the tip of her middle finger meets the sheet that covers his pelvis, he hastily snatches her wrist and shoves it aside, suddenly disturbed by her caresses. He can't even remember what he initially saw in her that he considered attractive. She had long, dark hair. _Like his mother_. Dark eyes too. Maybe it was because her appearance was so similar to how a _proper _Uchiha _ought _to look. There certainly were never any Uchiha's with _abnormal_ hair colours.

Pouting at his refusal, the female's bottom lip juts out and she pushes up on her forearms, letting her bare chest drag against his as she tilts her head up, far too close to his own. The contact creates a scathing, unpleasant sensation on his skin and he immediately shifts to leave. To get away from her shameless advances.

"Stay," her palm lands dead centre on his chest as she implores him not to leave.

She definitely did not _behave_ like any Uchiha's he knew.

Lips curling up, she tries her luck and leans in for an attempt to land a kiss on his lips. Scowling, he turns to avoid any onslaught of unwanted attention and abruptly pushes her aside so that he can get up and leave.

Disappointed but unperturbed by his cold attitude, the dark haired woman flops back to her pillow and eyes him while he dresses. "I wonder who it is you reserve your kisses for, hm?"

Never one for engaging in petty conversations, he ignores her.

"Is it for that prisoner in the tower? It is a girl, right?"

He cast a blank glance at her, but unhampered by her line of questioning, he continues to collect the last of his clothing.

The woman smirks, thinking herself clever, "I heard it _was_ a female. Is she pretty?" Rumors of the person locked away in the tower occasionally surfaced, though they existed more as urban legend than facts. Civilians rarely understood the matters shinobi attended to. They simply went about their daily lives, not realizing the sacrifices and trials all shinobi are eventually forced to face.

She pauses when she catches him scanning the room for something and nonchalantly points out, "Ah, the scroll you had with you is over here." She nods to the bedside table next to her and reaches for it to hold it up for him. In turn, he promptly reaches for it without a word of gratitude.

"It's always the same with men like you, isn't it," she purrs. As his fingers curl around the end of the scroll, she clings to it tightly so that he cannot withdrawal as quickly as he wants, "wanting something you can't have." _Someone_ is what she meant. She was perceptive for a civilian.

Impatient and wanting to leave, he simply glares while she bats her eyes and licks her lips seductively, though she doesn't really think she can change his mind and get him to stay. Instead, she hints to future encounters.

"Makes me think that next time, I should put up more resistance," her tone is light and playful; completely the opposite of what he wants to hear. This woman was definitely the farthest thing from what he wanted. Already he can feel the hunger within him wanting to consume. Wanting to be satiated. Wanting to be filled with _something_; he just didn't know with _what_.

Quickly, he departs, never one to stick around long after sex.

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In those brief moments where his body is completely satisfied and mind blank of all except the hum of pleasure washing over him, he finds himself at peace and without burdens. He didn't have to think about the demands of others or keeping a seemingly endless stream of grievances at bay in order to maintain an orderly, peaceful society. Nor did he have to think about what was right and what was wrong. It was simply a pleasant quiet.

The feeling never lasted long, however. Years of persistent schooling drilled into him the compulsion to mask any hint of weakness, physical or otherwise, which is why he never allowed himself to remain in such a relaxed state for long. He focuses on the headboard, willing his heart rate to slow, for the blood in his veins to circulate properly, and laboured breathing to settle.

The delicate touch of Sakura's soft fingers brushing over his collarbone snaps his breathing back to its usual, steady pace. It was gentle, non-threatening and entirely unexpected. So far out of the norm for the routine they'd created between themselves, that he can't help but watch her carefully, suspicious behind the motives of her actions.

She eyes him with equal, detached curiosity. At that spot over his collarbone.

His analytical mind races to unwrap the questions hiding in her sea-foam green eyes. _Exactly _the type of bright eye colour absent in Uchiha women.

It's when his memory touches on something, so insignificant, that happened days prior that he realizes what's captured her attention. It was such a _Sakura_-thing to pick up on; something no one else would ever notice or pay any real attention to.

With a swell of hubris he bites out a derisive, "Jealous."

Her hand quickly withdraws, as if it were his skin that bit and not his words. Still, there's something in her eyes that tells him her thoughts are lingering on it, though he cannot tell exactly what it is. The fact he can't read her is an annoyance in and of itself.

With more severity than necessary, he finds himself snapping out, "Don't think I reserve myself for you."

The last thing he needed was for her to think she actually meant something to him.

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Days came and went with little interruption to his routine. Sakura still resisted, he still exercised control over her. Hokage duties beckoned his attentions, the clans bickered, and peace remained. Everything continued undisturbed.

"Sasuke, I need to talk with you."

The raven-haired male didn't even look up from the scroll in his hands to see what the female wanted. He'd already moved on from her, with women who asked less questions and hid their ambitions better.

"It's important," she leans forward on his desk, the V cut of her shirt a little _too _low.

Still, he deliberately did not acknowledge her, hoping she'd get the hint and depart without further ado. He didn't have any qualms with putting someone in their place, though it was preferable and required less effort to simply pretend they didn't exist. Words were always a bigger burden for him than actions.

He takes out a pen to jot notes down in the corner of the piece of parchment in his hands. There were still certain matters with the larger clans that required his attention and diplomacy. Not to mention trade negotiations to ensure equality between coastal regions and places further inland. The hokage's duties were endless.

"_Please,_" the tone of her voice is desperate, and for the briefest of moments he she's a flash of pink but cast it aside as abruptly as it entered.

Sharply, he sets the pen down and at last sends a look of impatience at the woman who's nothing more than an unwelcome intrusion. "Look," he begins, prepared to send her on her way only to be interrupted unexpectedly.

"I'm pregnant."

The blunt statement catches him off guard, though his carefully concealed expression betrays little sense of anything. _Good for you_, he almost wants to scoff out before waving her off dismissively. It hardly registers in his mind to ask who the father is. Was she here to ask him for more favours, thinking he'd take pity on her for her condition? It doesn't even occur to him that it could possibly be his until she asserts a quick "It's yours."

An elegant brow arches over one of his eyes, as if completely mishearing those two words.

"It's yours," she confirms again, with greater confidence this time.

"How do you know?" He's skeptical of her sincerity. "It's been weeks and," his voice lowers, "You said you had protection."

"It's a month along, and," she crosses her arms while launching into her defense, "I did have protection but... I don't know, I guess it didn't work. It's not always one-hundred percent... But, it's definitely yours. It's an Uchiha."

He's still not fully convinced by the time he starts standing, collecting a few scrolls in his hands as he readies his escape from the current reality this woman was shoving onto him.

"What should I do?" She asks, trying to catch him before he makes it to the door.

It was unfair an unfair question. How should he know? It was too sudden. Much had changed since the time he once professed his ambition of restoring the Uchiha clan. He wasn't the same person anymore, his goals and responsibilities had changed. Nothing was even remotely similar.

At the door he waivers, not bothering to look back at her or the foetus growing in her womb. For the first time, in a long while, he doesn't know what the proper reaction ought to be. In his indecision, he breathes out a low and honest, "I don't know." He needed time to think. Somewhere far from here.

He buries himself in work and doesn't return to Konoha for a week.

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_'__You wouldn't have a child with someone you hate...'_

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"Sasuke, we need to decide what to do... It's coming up to two months now."

That unpleasant, hot acrimonious feeling starts coursing through his veins like liquid fire. He doesn't like the way she uses the word 'we'. As if there were a 'we' to even speak of. Not with this woman. Not ever. He doesn't have the patience to have this conversation right now, and a great part of him simply wishes that if he ignored her, the problem would simply go away on its own.

"If you want it," she brings a hand to her belly, "I'll need your help. Financially, and with raising it." She's curt and to the point, _businesslike_, though he notices she's done little to cover the swell of her breasts.

The dark haired female purses her lips, and puts a hand on her hip, clearly intent on staying until things are settled. She'd been harassing him for weeks, always wanting something from him.

"I can't do it on my own." Firmly, she adds, "I _won't _do it on my own."

He rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his frustration at bay. The problem wasn't fading. Instead it promises to throw his orderly, rigid lifestyle into complete chaos. Still, he takes slow, deep breaths in an effort to smother the simmering embers in his gut.

_ '__You must care for her._'

Sakura's words ring inside his head, instantly causing his fists to clench into tight balls. His nails dig into his palms and skin prickles with an anxiousness that's impossible to suppress.

_What did Sakura know anyway_, he chastised. Given the slimmest of opportunities, she'd always use it to spout make-belief nonsense about the importance of bonds. You don't need to care for someone to have a child with them. Yet, he couldn't shake the words. It'd been weeks since she said them and still they drifted through his consciousness like an unpleasant fly buzzing in an empty room.

Eying the woman before him, he can confidently assert that he definitely did not care for her. Did he even know her last name? He'd have to check the visitor's log on his way out to be sure.

Tight-lipped and arms crossed over her chest, she calmly informs him, "If you don't want it; I'll take care of it."

The statement incites him to respond at last. He stands abruptly behind his desk, with his hands pressed flat against the smooth, wooden surface. "You mean _abort _it?" He spits out, as if insulted by the mere suggestion.

"I'm just saying," she backtracks, "It's an option. Neither of us really seem suited to be..." Rather than finish, she casts him a knowing glance. "I know that you're a busy man."

_'__Nothing is going to change because of this.' _

Everything would change.

Underneath the insult, he sees an escape and his mind is already dissecting her crude solution to his problem. Did he really want to bring a child into this world? One that came from a cursed bloodline and would be born to a father who couldn't love, and a mother who was only ever in it for materialistic gain? There was nothing right about it.

_'__I don't care about you.' _

The solution remains at the forefront of his thoughts. But, was it really the right thing? Ending a life before it even had the chance to begin...

"I don't care," he clips out, restraint evident in his tone and tense posture. He still didn't know.

"You mean... " Heavy silence blankets the room, as she waits for him to state his decision aloud.

"I don't care!" At last he snaps, slamming his hands against the desk and causing the woman standing before him to flinch.

This woman didn't know the first thing about raising the child of a shinobi. She was just some civilian. What did she know of having blood on her hands, or the feel of bones breaking under her punches, lungs collapsing, organs bursting, skin tearing and limbs being severed from bodies. Cries of agony and pleas of men begging to be put out of their misery.

The sharingan starts swirling angrily in his right eye, threatening to reveal its vicious power.

What did _she_ know of the screams of loved ones haunting her dreams every night or the glassy film that clouds the eyes of dead ones. Dead ones _he_ was responsible for draining the life out of.

She'd never understand, but he could show her...

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The pink hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge, fingers clenching and unclenching in her lap as she resist shooting a spiteful glare at the door. She could feel his attention on her, thick and heavy. Burning her with an intensity that only he could ever manage. She was furious. At him for having fooled her, mocking her with versions of the _old _Sasuke. She was even angrier with herself for foolishly reverting back to the pathetic version of herself that believed he could be saved. In the first hours that he had left her that night, she couldn't help tracing her lips with her finger, re-imagining the feel of his mouth on hers. Slowly, her trance faded, replacing with a sense of shame, then disgust, and finally intense fury.

_'__Sasuke-kun!' _

She hates, hates, _hates_ that she called him that. Bile rises to the back of her throat, searing her esophagus on its way up. After all this time, she didn't think she would be fooled so easily. More importantly, she thought she had extinguished the belief that some small part of the old Sasuke remained buried deep inside that cold, dark heart of his.

_'__Don't think you're something special to me._'

How could she? He made it abundantly clear on numerous occasions that he thought little of her. Indeed, it seems he goes out of his way to rub it in her face, taunt her with his lack of caring, and yet, when he kissed her... Her eyes clench shut in retaliation to the memory. All she wants is to forget.

Instead, she feels his long fingers curling around her shoulder in a firm, insistent hold that digs into the fabric of her yukata. The very same fingers he had stained with blood when he came to her that night. What was it that he had done? More importantly, _who's _blood had it been? It chilled her to the bone when she learned he'd lost the baby. Could the blood have been... No. She didn't allow herself to dwell on the possibility of _that_. It was too dark. Too monstrous to even rationalize. Instead, she asked herself vague questions and came no closer to answers.

His sleeve brushes against her cheek and body sways next to hers as he leans down slightly, far too close for comfort.

**What**, she wants to glower out at him, and back it up with a harsh remark about how she didn't want his attention, especially not his hands. In lieu of that, she tries to shrug and discreetly slip out from under his grasp.

It doesn't work. If anything, his grasp tightens and the intensity of his eyes on hers magnifies, as if he's purposefully trying to burn holes into her. It makes her palms grow sweaty and chest constrict. She always hated the feeling of him studying her. It makes her anxious, self-conscious; like he's peeling back all the layers of her skin, dissecting her, and laying her insides bare before casting her aside with a callous disregard for the torment it causes her.

In her lap, her fingers twitch with the compulsion to swat his hand off her shoulder. It didn't belong there.

"Here."

His hand leaves her abruptly but his presence remains near as he discards something warm in her lap, atop her small hands.

Dumbly, Sakura stares down at the bundle of fabric for several seconds, not quite knowing why it's there or what it is. Hesitantly, she inspects it more closely, lifting her right hand to delicately brush her fingers over the soft material. It's another yukata, the cotton material slightly thicker than the one she currently wears. The creamy off-white colour is offset with thin vertical stripes of light pink, the same shade as her hair. Strewn about are finely embroidered sakura petals of varying shades of red, pink and faint yellow.

It was pretty. _Too _pretty.

"What's it for?" She asks stiffly, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to calculate the meaning behind the gesture. It was always something with Sasuke, and it had nothing to do with concern or kindness.

"What do you think." The snide reply comes out cold and short.

"What's wrong with the one I have?"

"It's filthy."

It's true. The navy blue one he'd given her months ago now had stains littered all over it with small rips and tears, loose threads and the edges of the sleeves darkened permanently with a thin layer of dirt, blood, sweat and who knew what else. In spite of all this, she still has misgivings trading it in for something so _delicate _in appearance.

Deftly, her index finger traces over one of the embroidered petals. Some loose strands stray from her messy bun and frame her face. She's aware Sasuke's eyes are still watching her, observing her every movement, waiting for her to fail whatever kind of test this is.

"What happened to..." she begins slowly, shifting her head so she can eye him with suspicion, "the old prison garb?" The plain, ugly gray ones that blended in with the walls and hid all traces of her femininity. She preferred that outfit much more.

"What does it matter," his irritation is growing.

"I don't think it'd be right for me to wear something the other prisoners don't." In a swift motion, she pushes the folded yukata further down her lap in clear disapproval and rejection of the offering. She would've let it fall to the floor had his hand not snapped out and fingers wrapped around her wrist to prevent her from completing the motion. The action brings him further into her personal space, with his dark hair grazing against her forehead and long steady breaths brushing over her skin.

"There _are _no other prisoners here."

She frowns, "It'll just get dirty."

"Then it'll get dirty," he clips out, unmoved by her complaints.

"A darker colour would—"

"Then next time I'll get black," he seethes, pushing the yukata to her chest before turning on his heels heading for the exit. He slams the door shut with such a reverberating force that she instinctively flinches at the loud sound.

_Black_; the colour of mourning. Yes, she thinks, she would like that much better than this pretty little thing that innocent young girls would wear. What was he thinking.

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He returned hours later to make sure she'd changed. His timing was off however, and she was in the midst of a change of heart, deciding, after all, that she'd stick with the dirty old navy one instead of the new, dainty and pretty one. It made her look _too _clean, and features far _too_ soft.

"What are you doing?" He asks, brow raised, as she stands with her back facing him, obi untied, folds hanging open and hands reaching for the old yukata still lying on the bed.

"Changing back." The reply is short and unexpected. She doesn't even bother to glance over her shoulder at him, but still she pulls the yukata shut.

"Why?"

"It's not for me." She's referring to the style. Specifically the colours and spring-time theme.

Sasuke thinks it's exactly her type. All the civilians in Konoha were preparing for the winter festival, and the shops were full of lavish kimonos. He only noticed the pink and off-white yukata because it was in a dingy little shop window that he'd passed, while trying to avoid the crowds of people through back alleys. It wasn't as though he'd gone looking for it; the circumstances merely aligned as had so much else in their lives.

"Leave it," he's behind her swiftly, his fingers wrapping around her wrist the moment she has the discarded yukata in her finger tips.

Being near her intoxicates him, clouding his rational thought and intensifying his sense of touch. There's nothing he misses in her responses; the way her back stiffens when his torso brushes against it, the sharp intake of air followed by quick, shallow breathing. Even the subtle flinch, and minute tilt of her head to escape the feel of his hot breath fanning across her cheek. All of these small movements are unmistakable, and it's apparent to himself that the less she wants his attention, the more he wants to force it upon her.

In his hand, he feels her fingers twitch, still bent on clinging to that old yukata. Meanwhile, his other hand comes up to rest briefly on her shoulder before slipping the fabric down so that he can rest his lips dangerously close to her skin. Her shoulders tense and face grimaces as he mutters against her, "It suits you."

There's no room for argument. He won't let her return to the old navy outfit she so eagerly wants to hold onto.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees him watching –always watching– as he presses his lips to her shoulder. His onyx eyes blank and as unreadable as ever, but she can tell he's daring her to oppose him. Laying a trap, like a trail of breadcrumbs to the ever-vigilant but unsuspecting prey.

She _knew _this yukata would be trouble.

It's when his hand leaves her wrist, sliding up her arm to wrap around her stomach and trap her like a caged animal in his arms, that she starts to struggle.

"I don't like it," she drops the yukata and grips his forearm with both her hands, trying with all her strength to yank it off her.

"Doesn't matter."

"I hate it!" She cringes as his teeth slide against her skin, and his hands continue their assault uninhibited by her resistance.

"You'll learn to like it," he mumbles into the crook of her neck, only half-paying attention to what she's saying. His mind is already on other matters.

"I won't!" She wants to fling the offending outfit across the room. Rip it to shreds. Burn it. Anything! She just wants to destroy it. She hates pretty things. She hates that it's so clean and delicate. Such a reminder of spring. She hates that she once would've picked it out for herself. Everything about it she despises.

He decides to show her how much he likes it by taking her, with her back against the wall and legs loosely wrapped around his waist. It's hard and fast; there are no kisses on the mouth or gentle touches this time. Instead, he goes out of his way to show how little he cares for her, and how cold a man he's become.

She returns his gift with scratches down his arms, neck and face.

There's no calls for her missing _Sasuke-kun_ this time either.

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Blood.

He was feeding her blood, Sakura surmised, staring down at the bowl of red clam miso soup. It wasn't the first time either. Since he came to her that night, she's been starting to see blood on everything. It plagued her dreams, haunted her to think he'd bathed her in the blood of another and she, in her foolishness, had accepted it and allowed it to seep in through her skin like a toxin seeking to taint the last of whatever innocence she may have.

Green eyes wince shut as she brings the chopsticks to her lips to take in a mouthful of clam. The initial bite doesn't start off bad. It's the moment an image flashes in her mind of his hands blotted with blood that a metallic taste floods her tastebuds and she has to force down the salty mixture without chewing to stop herself from spitting it out. Knowing he won't be satisfied with her taking a single bite, she goes through the motion again and tries to shake out the disturbing image of Sasuke feeding her the blood of his latest victim. _If _it had been. She didn't know for sure.

To distract herself, she follows the swirls in the wooden tabletop, then the rumpled bed sheets on the other side of the room. The wall and floor do even less to divert her attention. The taste of blood still overwhelms her, dropping food to her stomach like a rock and leaving it to sit there. When, at last, her sights set on his open toed sandals, she can no longer choke down the contents of her dinner.

If Sasuke notices her difficulty, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stands silently with his arms crossed and attention set at a point on the wall.

She wonders if he ever has nightmares of all the blood on his hands. Probably not. Nightmares were for those with a conscience.

Pushing away the tray with her half-eaten bowl of red clam –blood – soup, she stands, signalling his cue to depart. He's slow to react, however, taking several seconds before turning to her, and when he does, the motion is mechanical and his obsidian eyes are void of anything. It's unnerving, sending chills down her spine. He had looked at her _that _night too.

Wanting to send him on his way, she gives a faint nod to the tray to affirm that she is done and his presence no long needed. She then gazes impatiently at the very same spot on the wall he'd been focusing on mere seconds earlier. At her sides, her fingers fidget with the fabric of her yukata.

Slowly, he walks to the table, the gentle pat of his shoes hardly audible. When reaching for the tray, he hesitates upon noticing the bowl half-full, but for whatever reason he decides not to mention it and instead takes the tray and prepares to depart without a word spoken.

It's when he's an arm's reach from the door, with his back facing her and her thoughts still incessantly lingering on his bloody hands, that she realizes she's staring at the exact same spot he'd been leaning against when he came to her that night with murder in his eyes.

"Wait," she blurts out mistakenly, eyes still trained on the wall. She didn't mean to speak, her voice simply came out against her will, because she didn't _really _want to know what had bothered him then but she needed to. It bothered her that he had come to her, filled her mind with questions and hundreds of 'what ifs'. There was no way she could move past it or settle the unease she felt without asking.

_What if he killed someone?_

_What if the blood came from someone she knew?_

Still, the timing had been suspicious. The responses even more so. He dragged her into something that she didn't want to be a part of. While she knew absolutely nothing about it, she felt the lingering sense of... Something. Guilt? Responsibility? Neither seemed to fit precisely.

What if he had done something, truly terrible and despicable... Had she given into a monster that evening?

"That night," she begins slowly. He doesn't have to ask to know exactly which night she's referring to; there had only ever been one night.

"You had blood on your hands."

He continues to stare blankly at the door in front of him, waiting for her ask the question he already knew was on the tip of her tongue.

"Did you... _Murder _someone?" The word comes out thick, almost foreign to her verbal repertoire. It's something she knows exist in the world but is outside of her understanding. She can't take a life. He was evidence of that.

Anxiously, she waits for an answer, hypersensitive to signs or subtle movements from him that might hint at an answer. He gives away nothing, and as the uncomfortable silence stretches for several seconds, she knows she must be more specific in order to get a reply, even if the truth is more terrifying than she's ready for.

As she steadies her heart, she swallows to force down any reservations. She needs to settle the unease in her heart. It eats at her, infects her dreams and preys on the edges of her waking mind. For some reason, she feels she's at the centre of something she doesn't understand or yet see. Perhaps, it was merely her own arrogance playing tricks on her, making her consider herself more important than she really is.

"Did you kill _her_?" That unnamed woman she knows nothing about, but is the only person she knows is in Sasuke's orbit. It's the only thing she can think of that makes the remotest of sense, though little about this man made any sense at all.

"No." His reply is swift and flat, nothing in his posture betrays a sense of unease.

Temporarily, she feels relief, letting out a shaky breath and allowing her shoulders to relax. It's inexplicable, but she feels the weight and responsibility for whatever harm he might have caused someone on that peculiar night.

Though she receives the answer she wants, it's only the first part of her query. The tension in her chest swells once more as she prepares to ask her next, and final question.

"Did you..." her voice drops an octave, as though what she's about to ask is forbidden, something so outrageous and unspeakable that to utter the words would threaten to blow her over. She has to ask, however. It's the only way she can put her mind at ease, and let her body know that there's no reason for the lingering feeling.

"Did you kill the baby?"

The silence between them stretches once more, attacking her nerves and ability to breathe properly. The seeds of self-doubt begin to emerge as soon as the question is asked, and she thinks herself foolish for even contemplating it. He was cold and vicious, but there were limits to his depravity.

A hushed "_Yes_," echoes off the walls.

Even she did not expect his answer. Her shock quickly morphs to panic, as the confession shatters her composure, fracturing her thoughts into a thousand pieces and bombarding her with disjointed realizations for what it all meant. The emotions that enter her system come in a torrent of unpleasant bodily responses; the first, and least of which is her inability to breathe.

"What," she chokes, desperately wanting to disbelieve what she's just heard, but he says nothing to quell her turmoil. He doesn't even turn around to look at her.

"Why would you do that," voice low and cracking, she's increasingly distraught. To end the life of something so innocent, before it even had a chance at life... The tears well up in her wide eyes, body starts shaking and stomach churns with undigested food. His hands had been on her that night. On her with stained blood and she'd given in. _What kind of person was she?!_

She gags, not even caring about the pathetic sight she must make for, because all she can think of is why he would take the life of his own flesh.

"It was..." Dizziness hits her in a wave, and the floor disappears beneath her as she collapses to the ground.

For some reason, she knows her next words to be true, "It was because of _me_."

She doesn't know how or why, all she knows is that every fibre of her being believes it has to be her fault. It was irrational, complete nonsense, yet it's the only clear thought she can hold onto to. The floor is a blur, littered by her cascading tears, as she lays broken on her hands and knees with her shoulders wracking uncontrollably. She was falling to pieces, and he wouldn't even look at her!

"I said something, didn't I...?" Even with her thoughts in disorder, she searches for whatever she must've said that had set him off. It always came back to her. The things she said, the things she didn't. No matter what course she took, the result always ended the same.

"What did I do... It was me, wasn't it," she tries to stand, tries to get up so that she can grab him and force him to answer her. She has to know where she went wrong. Why wouldn't he just look her!

"It's my fault that you..." Why else would he have come to her that night.

Anguish cripples her, and she gives up trying to reach him. Instead, she cries disconsolate on the floor for what feels like eternity. Her speech gives way to incoherent ramblings, then strangled gasps and eventually quiet sobs.

By the time her tears dry up, and body succumbs to exhaustion, she's long forgotten that Sasuke was still in the room, rooted in place and back still facing her. It's only after her form stills and eyes drift shut that he kneels down beside her, pushing her damp bangs out of her pink, puffy eyes and depositing her on her bed.

He hovers over her shortly, just long enough to hear her murmur out a final, "I can't save anyone, Sasuke-kun."

_Not even herself. _

.

.

.

_"I don't care!"_

After he had snapped at the woman, he deliberated between shoving her out the door and showing her a world of agony to make her understand his indecision. Instead, she rushed out, saving him the trouble and allowing him to remain undecided. The calm returned to his state of mind soon after she left, letting him to throw himself into diplomatic matters and actual _important _things. Things he knew how to handle and predict the outcome of.

She returned, an hour later, delirious and stumbling through the doors.

"Sasuke," she murmurs, eyes shut and hands clutching the door handle to keep herself upright.

Setting down his pen, he looks up at her from his desk, momentarily annoyed that she had the forthright to return so soon. His annoyance quickly evaporates, however. Her behaviour is uncharacteristic, actions even more so, and a single look told him she was unwell. There was sweat rolling down her forehead, dark circles around her eyes and she had an unhealthy, pallid look to her.

The sight makes his stomach drop. A partial realization quickly forming in his mind. She's not simply sick. It's more than that, and far too sudden.

"What have you done," he utters lowly, and is at her side quicker than she can blink. His fingers clutch her elbow and dark eyes bore into hers, demanding answers that he's not sure he actually wants. The growing nausea in his stomach makes it harder to stand straight.

"I did it," she leans into him for support, and whispers the words that make his mouth go dry, "I got rid of it."

His eyes widen, and stomach drops. Quickly, he reaches down to feel in between her legs, silently hoping to find nothing, but instead discovers her clothes damp and the repugnant smell of something he's all too familiar with. When he withdraws his hand, its sticky with her blood. He knows exactly what she's done and what he's lost.

It doesn't make sense though. There shouldn't be disappointment or remorse.

"What did you take?" His voice is detached, and void of emotion.

"I... I don't know what it was called," delirium continues to cloud her mind, the blood loss sending her dangerously close to unconsciousness.

"It wasn't working..." She mutters as he lifts her in his arms, her blood-soaked clothes staining his hands with that of his unborn child. "I had to take double what the lady said..."

His feet hit the ground loudly as he starts rushing to the hospital, never bothering to look down at the woman in his arms. His thoughts and awareness of the situation are clouded and muddled beneath shock, confusion, and something else that he's not felt in a long time.

"It was a boy, did I tell you?"

He doesn't want to hear this.

"He would've looked like you... I know it."

It shouldn't affect him. He hadn't really wanted a child. This solved his problem; it was good and gone now. No more reason to think about it.

"Ha," she laughs weakly, eyes closing, "Who was I kidding... We would've made lousy parents."

_Why couldn't he stop thinking about it? About a future with a son, smiling up at him brightly as soon as he entered the home.  
><em>

There was an emptiness in his chest, a feeling of _loss_. How could he feel loss over something when he hadn't really wanted it to begin with?

Nothing made any sense. Most of all, why, when all he wanted to do was to numb and forget the ache in his chest, did his feet take him to Sakura?

.

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I hope after revelations of the latest chapter(s) people reading aren't TOO disappointed by how different Sasuke's character now seems in this fic. I always believed that Naruto would 'save' Sasuke from 'darkness', but it's his potential for darkness that often gives me ideas for fics. Now that Sasuke will be a 'good guy', I'm sure my portrayals of him will seem terribly OOC. Just try to keep in mind that the way I portray his character is more a 'what if' (what if Naruto could not reach him?).

Also... Now that Naruto is (basically) over, so many of my future fic ideas will seem crazy AU! A bit sad about that... But I don't think I can write a lot of good fics with one-arm Sasuke (cry) or family life... I hope people will still read my stories even if they diverge greatly from the end of the Naruto storyline u_u Sorry, I'm panicking over it so much.


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